You build a crack in the Tate Modern and everyone says, "That looks like a real crack." On the other side of the world an earth quake is causing mass devastation. We wouldn't know how to create a realistic-looking crack, if the things in our lives didn't fall apart. Then the invented cracks hanging on the wall help us see the cracks in our lives, which inspire more artistic cracks, and so on, in infinite reflections of disrepair until it's a razor cut on a blank canvas, framed and famous.
I'm afraid everything's been said, reflected into oblivion. Every conversation's been had and is recorded somewhere. That there are no new songs. Yes, sing to the Lord a new song. Behold, all things are made new. But I'm tromping through quotes to write a line. I'm filtering out movies to see my life. I'm stuck on the delete key to remove pages and pages of cliche which just pour out of me. See, they pour out. If I really wanted to be original I'd have to make up my own language--at which point I'd probably have to grow dreads and become a nomad together with my german shepherd.
last night with dear Rachel, whose face is responding to the camera
3 comments:
It's so sad because our whole lives are made up of cliches that we believe are new. At least mine is.
Megan, Don't be sad, tomorrow's a new day! You can bloom where you're planted and make lemonade out of life's lemons. Well, keep a stiff upper lip and we'll see you soon.
Can I be the German shepard?
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