Time has gone by so quickly. I've come to realize what would make me truly happy. I want to be able to express myself artistically and not have to worry about success or getting a paycheck for it. This could be through writing, screenprinting or any other artistic outlet that I haven't discovered yet.
I just finished "Iconoclast" by Gregory Berns, and it has left so many more questions than I initially had before reading it. In it, he discusses how our visual perception is completely skewed, because we have a blind spot right in front of our faces that our brains automatically fill in. I've come to wonder how much we're actually missing, when our brains are trying to make sense of what we don't see. Do all lines actually connect? Is space and perspective created by the mind? Does color even exist? I'm gonna say no. Reading this book drew so much of an impact, that I've come to question everything and believe nothing.
I think we have actually accepted that our eyes pay tricks on us. You could have 5 eyewitnesses standing in the same place and they would give you 5 different testimonies, and this happens on a regular basis. I want to explore that the sense of touch plays tricks on you too. You touch something to confirm depth and texture, but if your mind alters the way you feel things then we can bet that our eyes will adjust accordingly as well, and we end up experiencing something completely different than what actually exists. We may as well forget the world we're living in, because our mind is just making it up anyway.
I would do anything right now to spend my days writing, going to the gym, and doing my art stuff. So I'm trying to take the next steps to make that happen. Step number one, start writing. If JK Rowling can write a 7 book series, while raising 3 kids on welfare, I think I'm out of excuses. I've mostly done those non-fiction narratives that I post sometimes, but I think I'm gonna try my hand at fiction. The worst case scenario of this project is that I coerce someone to include it in a small unknown literary review, in which case I'll make a chap book out of it and give it away. Best case scenario...writing, gym, art. It's win-win because I always wanted to parade around with a chap book and have a fake book release party with my friends. A real book release party doesn't sound as much fun, because you have to sign books, talk about money, and people are in your face all the time and want to have a conversation about the book you thought you were done thinking about when the editor said "it's clean", and you can't make a drunken fool of yourself. God, I hope I fail.
But yeah, I'm gonna write a fiction piece now. Probably no more than 5,000 words, although I'm not aiming for a specific count. It's the story that I dreamt when I got my first full night's sleep after having my first experience with jet-lag in London (I had been to California several times before, but a 3 hour difference never had a major effect on me like traveling to London did).
Last night, I went to the Somerville News writer's festival, which got me pumped up to get started. Before the festival, I was reading Junot Diaz's book "The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao", and it was so good that I told myself that I should hold off writing until I finish this book, because I felt that reading this book would make me a better writer. There were just so many new ways of thinking. The exposure alone would make me a better person altogether.
That's really what I have going on. I made Kitty a mix CD of nothing new. I rediscovered classic rock and the OTHER Jack Johnson albums and threw in a few indie songs from the free CDs I got at Virgin records.
I really want to get back into the art thing too. This morning I woke up and the sun and the venetian blinds were writing sheet music on my wall. That's what it looked like. I opened the window and the pace grew faster. It was so cool. I took several pictures and now I want to make a project out of it, but I want to focus on writing too.
How do I like my job? Sometimes, I have the sudden urge to stand up over my cube and scream, "what the fuck is wrong with you people?" All of these intelligent characters working in a mechanical zombie zone. At first, I felt like I was losing a year of my life with every passing minute. Now, the boredom of tedious nonsense work is so bad, I swear I'm starting to forget what makes me, me, because "I" would never work here.
That's it. This is Liz Glines (Senior Copywriter looking for a full-time pharma advertising job in the Boston area) Peace.