Postfestum...

Still weak.

First real walk after a week. Felt goood. I mean, am tired as heck, but at least my brain cell got  ventilated and am starting to form coherent subjects again.  Example. I had two intelligent thought today already. Had some help, but there they are.

One. Did you know it’s possible to suffer from caffeine withdrawal? It was right there in front of me the whole time – feeling nauseated, feeling chemically unbalanced and I kept blaming the vitamins. But I hadn’t had coffee in 6 days. This shit hurts like a bitch! I feel terrible!

This is Coffee God’s idea of punishing me after I said I’ll stop asking people out for coffee.

Two. All of history is a matter of popularity as opposed to quality. Our entire historical legacy has nothing to do with quality. Things that survived were things that were many and close to the feeding sink. In fact – and I apologize for using a quote here  - whoever said the amazing thing about Shakespeare, when everyone says he’s really good, is that he’s actually really good, falls harder than you might think.

We are always amazed when somebody no-name is discovered to have left behind outstanding product, as if – but how isn’t this in text books?? Who was this person? Why isn’t s/he famous? Well, because they weren’t interested or interesting enough to be famous. This goes worst for art, namely because it’s so fiercely subject to interpretation at the time… but no less terribly for science or music. (I still think music is science crossdressing as art.) You have people out there who look down on Bach for pete’ssakes.. Anyways. It is today as it has always been – popularity had nothing to do with quality and since the dawn of time until tomorrow, you’ll have bestseller crap and soul-wrenching doorstops. Even while they were still alive, those really good, professional authors had to be messed up in some way to be interesting to the general public: they either had to be young, beautiful, wild, drug addicts and hopefully married to their sisters or they had to be old, wild, secluded, living on some island lighthouse, mysteriously evolved, murderers, war heroes or gay. If they weren’t worthy of tabloids, they weren’t being sold. Happily married, normal people with families, or better yet, vaginas, were not interesting enough for history. Only professors of their narrow subject will know fairly anything about them. The juicy ones, the ones with life stories almost as appealing as their work – those are what we learn in grade school of. Who the fuck has ever heard of  John Herschel? That dude was amazing! (He was n astronomer, granted, those tend to be even less desirable than sculptors, but still.) But neup. He wasn’t a roaring twenties socialite or a roaring alcoholic war correspondent.. It’s kind of like my sister, who thinks because something is bigger, it’s more evolved. (She thinks mites fart mould.) Jarmush said it best about his vampire lady: she’s too good to be famous.

There is a good story and then there is a good story with sex or blood in it.

History does not look kindly on non-dramatic entries.

…

… This coffee withdrawal is starting to depress me. I can’t concentrate for three fucking minutes. I’ll go photograph shiny things for a while.

…

I take everything too seriously. I need a hobby. Like… making hand puppets. I’ve never made hand puppets before.

I’m sleepy.