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Saturday, Jun. 15, 2002 / 5:24 p.m. ~And I Dreamed Everything That Can Be Dreamed Whilst Sleeping~ Passing the dining room table, which is really a kitchen table, one of those old fashioned formica (?) and chrome jobbies with the chrome and vinyl chairs, you know the kind, I saw amidst the crap piled thereon the card Jon had made up for the Party. Very cool. He is a graphic designer. Why have I left it sitting there? Oh, yes, because I was considering going, for like the past 5 weeks!!!! The word for which to create meaning in Art: NEXT. When I first heard it my mind was filled with the possibilities. What to create? A painting? With an arrow, pointing right. No, wait, a large question mark. No one knows what's next. No, how about a collage of images, cut from magazines, images of what I wish could be next. All beautiful people, kitchens, homes, nature, animals, food, arranged, these clippings, in the shape of a large question mark. No, a roll of film shot sequentially, as most are anyway, but more purposeful than that. My training is in photography so photography should be my medium. Maybe as if I had an auto-winder on my camera, maybe shots of the girls, just follow them around the apt with the camera, one shot after another. NEXT meaning "immediately following". Or environmental shots, the artificial landscapes created intown after the tree removals, after the bulldozing is through. That new neighborhood in the midst of the old in Midtown. BellSouth has created a whole new two or three blocks, and it's so new it's surreal. That's what's NEXT. And Mark was going to help me. Accompany me, keep me safe from the miscreants and panhandlers, was prepared, going to lend me his foam core and spray mount, was insistent it would be best, all on Wednesday, and I felt the energy drained from me as if it had been siphoned, and I canceled. I still was so unsure, so lacking in any confidence, so afraid to present a piece of Art I'd created in front of a group of strangers, and the two men I'd tried to know. The two men I'd tried to know, the two hosts. Jon and James. The one I'd gone out with, written to, gotten to know, as much as he'd let me, the other was out of my reach, never responded. And then the one I'd gotten to know told me I wasn't worth knowing. In so many words. And now, the card with the cool design, the little advert for the Party, the Party to which so many sundry people have been invited, for which I got the email announcing how we should all bring food, we should partake in a great feast as part of the festivities, I can no longer go. The choice was made. And not by me. And right now, at 5:33 p.m., I would have otherwise been preparing to leave here, my home, to drive there, to James' most groovy living/work space, to partake in festivities and feasting, to show my Art, confident or not, to meet and greet, to socialize, to show myself. The choice was made though, and I didn't make it. How could he think I would possibly still go after that email? Was he thinking? Is he an idiot? He can't be. Someone with a Masters degree in Philosophy? A world traveler? A graphic artist? A popular person in the city's art community? Couldn't be an idiot. What was he thinking? Why? And look at me, what a pitiful fuck of a person. I shouldn't have let it get to me at all. I never should've pursued a person like that. Why was I attracted to an intelligent, creative, artistic, guitar playing social butterfly anyway? Because he was initially so attracted to me? I'm nothing. And don't tell me it's not going to be a good party. The last one was one of the best parties I've ever been to, in my entire life. This one? Promises to be even better. I know, I've been friendly with the organizer, one named Jon. Fine, Jon, I hope it's all you want it to be, and that my lack of presence is not a detriment. My guess is that lack will not be lacking, it won't even be noticed. Fuck me, but I feel a bit like that poor sick fuck in "La Pianiste". No, I'm not into cutting my vulva, nor am I into being beaten, nor do I sleep with my mother, but if she were still alive.....who knows. But I repel those who are initially attracted, in quite the same way overall. And in the end I want to take that huge knife and plunge it into my chest the same way. Yes, she was a sick, sick, fuck, but I can relate in different ways. I can. I don't know how to proceed with this day. I slept through most of it. Quite purposefully. The cats bouncing over me and around me after they'd had enough. Imagine, cats having had enough sleep. Crazy. Now all I can think is how I was going to go this thing, and now I'm not, and there sits that advert card with the cool graphic, and I need to put it away, not throw it away, but set it aside in another pile, and try to forget. This is one of those times when I wish there was some sort of fast forward button in life. Let's move on, but who wants to wait for time to heal all wounds? Isn't there a way to not have to wait? It's childish. All of it. My intense reactions to everything. I'm really not happy with who I am right now. I feel very immature, stupid, ignorant, totally lacking in the ability to make intelligent choices, decisions, totally lacking in any knowledge of how to live. Cost of the War in Iraq
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