Do you think you know me? You don't know a writer just because you've read her work. At least not in the biblical sense. Oh well. Obscurity is its own reward. Or was that obscenity? I get confused. Although it’s true that you can’t please everyone, you can’t offend everyone either. Andy Kaufman could, but he's dead.
Given the minuscule amount of information we have to work with, it's no wonder there's a gap between what we believe and the way things are. The human psyche has been tuned by eons of evolution to transform limited experience into an overarching model of reality. So we depend on each other to point out our misconceptions. But don’t expect a thank you. The polar opposite of reality isn't fiction, it's ignorance. Unless you live on the equator.
Where do ideas come from? Beyond the dance of neurons there's a greater mystery. I call her Muse. She calls me in the middle of the night. The secret she whispered is, “Your reach must exceed your grasp, in order for your grasp to transcend your vision.” Unfortunately, I have no fucking idea what that means.
My life is an open book written in a language I don't quite understand. I do know my fatal flaw though, I’d rather be clever than correct. Unfortunately, the benefits of exercise don't apply to exercises in futility. I just have to keep focused on what I’m looking for here. What am I REALLY looking for? Oh shit. How embarrassing. I’m wearing them. There's got to be a new frontier around here somewhere. I must have left it in my other sweater.
I've been romancing an idea for a new video project. The working title is, "Marilyn McLuhan." Sorry. Jokes only I understand are so much funnier to me than jokes only you understand. That said, don’t whine if your audience doesn’t get it. Either your work sucks or they’re ignorant fucks. Or more likely, both. OMG Toto! You're wrong boy. There isn't anyone behind the curtain after all.
2 comments:
Marshall would have loved you (and the joke)! :)
Thanks! The last couple of blog post,s stitched together from tweets, read to me like old Woody Allen essays.
Post a Comment