Have I mentioned that I broke my wrist? It's been
about a month now. My first cast,
after a couple of weeks it feels like part of me.
It's got me theorizing about identity, how
who I think I am is largely the product of
short-term memory, a 2-week window framing
And, yes, it's driving me crazy. Just when I found
something I loved doing,
suddenly I'm back in front
of the computer--or anywhere but
here--procrastinating. I'm reading interviews with
short stories by Bukowski.
Spent an afternoon in the Seattle Art Museum with
Sarah, looking at Mexican
modernist paintings (yawn), then wowed by Do-Ho Suh's holographic
assemblages (holographic in the sense
that the whole is contained in the particle and vice versa).
I can get lost in the culture, content not to zoom
trying to take in the big picture (you know, the one that has
humankind spiraling towards annihilation). Spent a
sweet evening with Greg Lundgren at Vital 5, picking through remains destined
for Goodwill. (Vital 5 was a fine art
gallery and performance space occupying what had
been the Japanese pavilion in the '62 World's
Fair. The building is
being knocked down before it can turn 50--and thus
qualify for historic status--to make way for
luxury condos and a QFC
supermarket, another victory for the Haves...).
Sometimes it feels like everything's broken, or
breaking, and the only way
people are going to change is by going through
having squelched the ability to think and see....