For some reason, last night the soundtrack to my nonsensical and disjointed dreams was the Ben Folds Five. You know what I mean by soundtrack: in the background and very low-key however endlessly looping? I have no problem at all with the Ben Folds- there’s an infinite amount of worse music. But I really haven’t heard or thought about that band in a long time, so where in the world it came from I have no idea.
Things are funny aren’t they?
I’m feeling kind of cheeky today. And I mean cheeky in a good way baby, although I do know that’s not really a word we use around here much. Around here being America. I know the Brits use it and I like the sound of it however may not be using it correctly to accurately describe the “feeling” I’ve got going on here.
I’m feeling ha ha funny.
That reminds me of a friend I had once. I distinctly remember a day like it was yesterday when we were hanging out and I was cracking jokes continuously and yukking up a storm. This is something that I’m known to do (even when I’m by myself) and I recall it being in a good-natured enough way. After a while I guess it got old for this friend and he looked at me deadpan and for no discernible reason said that “you do realize that you’re the only one who thinks you’re funny, right?”.
And he wasn’t going ha ha.
Yikes! Although it’s true that I do think I’m one of the funniest people I know, I did think it was sad that this friend didn’t at least think ME LAUGHING at myself was funny.
It’s a clown show.
Anyway that was that and this is this and what this is I have no idea. I don’t have to know though, do I? That’s the beauty of life, I’ll find out all the answers soon enough. Oh, sorry. I do have a propensity for lapsing into diatribes and pronouncements of things that are serious in the midst of inanity. I just happen to like talking about the BIG stuff. It’s a case of “note to self” or “preaching to the choir” as they say, or having a “come to Jesus meeting”, which happens to be one of my favorite expressions.
If we spent any time together you’d come to Jesus.
It’s a good thing believe me. Today is Friday and this is me in my bewitching hour again in the dark, playing with my words for a reason not yet apparent. There’s some extremely good summer thunderstorm action going on outside, of the sort where the air is heavy and smells deliciously wet. There’s intermittent lightning of the kind that lights up the whole sky for a few seconds, as opposed to lightning strikes. When we were little we called this kind of sporadic and random lightning “heat lightning”, which probably doesn’t mean much. In the open field on the farm next door to me, the cows are honking and when the lightning flashes I can see them lying around on the top of the hill, in the rain. Would you call that noise they make honking? I don’t know but anyway yes, I’m playing with my words for no apparent reason, and if you’ve read this far you don’t know why either. And are a real glutton for punishment. As I’ve said before (ad nauseam), when I’m dead I’ll leave that for others to sort out.
The other day a writer friend and acquaintance of mine said “you’re writing is taking some interesting turns, I don’t know what to make of it” sort of thing. This is a person I respect, although they aren’t someone who I’d think would really know “what to make” of my writing anyway (for a variety of reasons). At the time of said comment I didn’t know quite how to respond, as the comment didn’t go anywhere specific and this person simply made the statement and eyeballed me questioningly. Make of what? I could only come up with a very sheepish “well I’m trying to keep it fresh”, instead of querying her further for a deeper and more authentic revelation, which was my inclination.
Come to Jesus.
I’ve thought about it since and was completely genuine and naked in my response. Yes, trying to keep it fresh. After a few days of some reflection and lots of activity on the working writer front, I realized a lot of good things about what I’m doing, namely STRETCHING and challenging myself, taking risks, sweating blood and crying out in my sleep trying to be original and most of all trying my damnedest not to be redundant. That last one isn’t easy as the sheer daily output of my writing is prolific, and what’s left to say? I’m sure I’m repeating myself.
Kinda like how people say about certain musicians: “all their stuff sounds the same”?
But anyway, I digress. My coffee’s done and the storm’s passed on through. It only lasted about forty-five minutes, but that’s a long one for this easy-bake-oven time of year. If I told you I’m sitting here laughing at myself would you say I’m the only one who thinks I’m funny?