nobody believes me when i say i'm shy. i'm so constantly, energetically reaching out with every bit of courage or kindness or wisdom i've collected or earned that it never occurs to anyone how strenuous it all is. like how even when i get drunk or high enough to lubricate it all, my brain grates against everything i see. the complimentary whys, the abusive why nots... it's always a strenuous journey, a challenging quest.
throw into that mix my memory. i've never had a good memory. if it wasn't for journals, photos, and the tireless retelling of childhood events, it would all be little more than a psychedelic smudge on my synapses. well, i suppose it wouldn't all disappear. but i'd hate to think what i would remember, for the scraps of memory i do have appear to be quite fickle. like, i can't remember the name (maybe it's jane?) or anything really about that girl, my best friend back in grade 3. and yet i can remember cass winthrop from another world (my mom's soap opera de choix). the brain is a nasty little trickster... sigh. so then, i've never had long-term memory. and my short-term memory has always been victim of unavoidable obstacles: one part "well, i'll forget anyway so what's the point," one part trying to take too much in and getting it all jumbled and one part narcotic. i don't have a fighting chance!
that said, somehow i've been insanely blessed to meet people. remember names. make meaningful connections. artists, world-changers, free-thinkers, soul-touchers and smile-spreaders. and gawd bless every fucking one of them - here, back in vancouver and in all the countless places i've lived in or visited - so many places, faces, important moments and gratifying connections.
so the other night i was musing about these connections, and i got to thinking about one of my new friends here in the big smoke - a painter. adrift on a rambly haze, i imagined her as warhol and me like.. oh i don't know, lou reed i guess (though i'm kind enough to not amplify my singing and choose instead to dance with words rather than flounder in lyrics). i imagined this friend and i forging a brave new little artistic world, completely unaware of the grandeur or vastness of experience that awaits us and the world we'll give our art to. it was a sweet dream. wonder if it'll happen? bah, i don't need no warhol-success. but getting my plays made and running my own theatre one day could be nice...
i wonder, i wonder
oh i don't know. well, i guess i do know that i've been given a great gift - the ability to write, to convey thoughts and ideas in a way that people understand. and i think i'm pretty good too. oh sure, whether i'm like, world-famous, life-altering, prize-winning-great remains to be seen. but even if "good" is good as i ever get, i feel so fucking lucky to be truly, effortlessly good at something i actually love. almost makes me wish i had a big bad Someone i could thank. instead, i guess i'll just do my best to make the most of it.
i think one way to do that is to endeavour to do a little more musing, and a little less mapping. it's too easy to regurgitate all i've done or been doing. but i haven't been doing nearly enough contemplating, philosophising, riddle-riding. sure i do that in my plays, but that doesn't mean i can just hide here in my blog and be as trivial as reality tv. well... not all of the time anyway. so i'll make a concerted effort to reinfuse a little more of that hmmming.
(wish me luck!)
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