Well good morning, I’m in somewhat better spirits today, after a run with YouTube’s videos and music selections for me this morning. The only thing missing from their AI-generated mixes is the SpinalTap, for reasons not yet clear to me, as it seems fairly obvious why that band should be there. But whatever, maybe their AI is resistant to my mating call, not to sound crazy, just trying to explain what I’m doing listening to YouTube 80s music at 7:00 a.m. in the morning. Perhaps only I can understand it, but I’ll do my best to explain it in a new triptych panel I hope to start soon. Ah, here comes the sun, I see blue skies out my hospital window, looks like it will be another good day today, which is nice.
I slept well last night, falling asleep in my chair during “Tar” which was just way too deep for me to comprehend at night after taking all my meds. Too bad, as I’m sure it’s probably a good film, mom seems to love it because the powerful woman takes a big fall. As I said, I’m really most interested in that Michael Jordan sneaker movie coming out soon, let’s get back to the theaters, shall we?
As I was driving around yesterday afternoon I just had to laugh at the insanity all around me. Fetter is absolutely right when he says psychosis is sanity in an insane world. I’m not psychotic now but I’m certainly much more aware now of my surroundings, more perceptive of little details and believe me, I’m seeing some mighty strange things to write home about, that’s for sure. I do keep them to myself, just because I don’t want to sound crazy or anything like that. But I wonder if this acute awareness will simply pass one day, or if maybe because I’m on this lowered Depakote it will remain? I guess we shall see.
Talked to mom this morning about how these rich, bleeding heart liberals (or whoever they are) seem to be everywhere, why they’ve come to Columbus to roost I’m not so sure. Maybe they were here all along and I just didn’t notice them, that’s a distinct possibility I can’t rule out. All I know is rich people can’t seem to resist trying to control the dialogue, and that includes public officials who are simply puppets of said rich people. Maybe I’m better off poor and a nobody, but as I said yesterday my current state does make me bitter and a tad resentful at times. I’m sick of my Target and Walmart clothes, I look like a bag lady most of the time. I sometimes wish I were well-groomed and lovely like Cate Blanchett in “Tar”—maybe that’s why I lost interest in the film, it hurt me too much. Restless, irritable and discontent, that seems to define me. Sponsor Shawn, maybe I call you. Or maybe I just get on my knees and pray.
In a way, my art is a deep prayer to my Higher Power, it’s definitely not therapy, and that’s why I get so angry at people who describe it as such. Going into my mind’s eye is a very personal, spiritual journey, shaped by other artists I have studied over the years. Today I’m going to work on a piece honoring Jasper Johns, his ale cans, contrasting his study which is so precise and painstakingly constructed with mine, which is dirty and quickly assembled with cast offs I randomly (or perhaps not randomly) found along my walks here in the neighborhood. Will anyone understand what I am trying to say, I guess it doesn’t matter, I will offer the piece up for sale in May, and if it finds a home I will be happy. If not, I can always throw it in the trash. My choice, remember?
The triptych is coming along a little more slowly, I don’t want to rush it along. I do so hope to have it completed in time for the art show, but I’m curious how we price it for sale. If I had my way, Michael would ask for at least $1,000 for the three panels, but I seriously doubt anyone looking at the work would value it that high. I guess you would have to know my whole life story to date to understand the work in it’s entirety, and also have a pretty good idea of what it’s like to trip the light fantastic and come back to relay the journey to an audience. Maybe one of those psychiatrists or scientists quoted in that offensive article about bipolar creativity might be interested, but honestly, if I had my way I’d ship the triptych to Kay Redfield Jamison at John Hopkins, for $1,000 of course.
Ah, let’s get real, I’m not a bright young thing, I’m just a stupid, middle-aged weirdo, unemployed, shitty housekeeper, unfit to reach my dream of writing a screenplay about a bipolar who saves a small print newspaper and rescues a community of warring people manipulated by an evil force (who might be a reincarnation of Steve Jobs). All I seem capable of doing is driving down Broad Street in Anytown, Ohio, taking note of cars and license plates, buildings and lots for sale, making a mental note of what developer Don Casto is up to, dodging suspect emails along the way. Oh, reader(s), how I wish maybe I were psychotic(?) but alas no, I’m firmly in reality and it’s all just strange, strange, strange (yet honestly, kinda funny and beautiful).
I wonder what would happen if I learned how to play chess—it captivates Michael so, what would happen if I learned how to play? Am I smart enough to figure out how to move the pieces on the board, I mean, I know how to drive the back roads of Columbus without the aid of a GPS, I have an excellent sense of direction, I’m a natural, it’s only the meds that kinda slow me down. But I can learn to work with that, I can learn to overcome my disability. Sure, maybe watching “Tar” was too much of a stretch for me, zoned out on Risperdal and Simply Sleep, but maybe if I watched it in the morning I might better understand.
Let me end with a little reminder of what I did yesterday afternoon: I picked up meds GABapentin and MELoxicam, and then went to Kroger’s to get PILLS BURY pizza dough. That’s it, in a NUT shell. No need need to question whether I’m bright or not, these random things keep happening to me. Make sense? You be the judge. Whomever is reading this random blog, just floating somewhere out there in the Internet. Have a great day, everyone out there still reading a print newspaper. This one’s for you.
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