in the air

Today was one of those raw days, or at least it started out as one. It started out like that mosquito net that normally surrounds you, that normally dulls the world ever so slightly (not necessarily in a malevolent way, but as the softest subtlest defense mechanism that comes standard on all models), had been lifted. I woke up to a song on NPR (it must be Sunday) that was sung by Nina Simone three days following MLK's assassination: Why. "A song written for today, for this hour."

Folks you better stop and think Because we're heading for the brink. What will happen now that he is dead.

So I guess this vulnerability to the worlds psychic waves was understandable. Maybe I should start waking up to music rather than to the news. Maybe it will make me less...analytical?

Also, it was beautiful outside. One of the first days that one could reasonably call Springlike. I now subscribe to the folklore surrounding Chicago winters...it is not so much that they are cold (thought they can be), but that they are interminable. And some days the cold feels downright English: wet and invasive, like a fog of ghosts walking around the city sticking their ethereal hands into your chest just for ghoulish shits and giggles. Dead jerks.

But today was blissfully sunny. Rachel is in San Francisco looking at CCA where she got accepted to the Graphic Design MFA program...it is sunnier more often there...and their winters are considerably shorter...it is an enticing proposition indeed. Old friends from St. Louis are picking up and moving to Portland. They are encouraging in more ways than one. They have a successful business making and selling stunning artwork online (that's their work above). They are the heroes of Etsy.com, an online market place of craft. They're actually where I got the idea for darkknightdramaturgy. The internet is not going away, and we are the generation to assimilate this tool into society (or adapt society to incorporate this tool).

I am reading Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert on orders from a friend. This too might have contributed to the rawness. I didn't think I would like it: I imagined it to be much too self-helpy. But it is surprisingly delightful. Well maybe the delightfulness is not surprising. Gilbert is like a less academically-grounded Joan Didion: where Didion relies on structurally mesmerizing tangents and allusions (brilliantly), Gilbert prefers metaphors and other figurative tricks. It is easy, and enjoyable. I guess the surprise is that it is intriguing. Even inspiring.

In a world of disorder and disaster and fraud, sometimes only beauty can be trusted.

It was one of those days when you could see cleverness floating just above your head, waiting for you to pluck it. Everything was in sharper focus. Clarity. It would have been a good day to write, but I didn't have the time unfortunately.

So I simply enjoyed the rush.