Birds

silk neckties, handpainted, 1980

silk neckties, handpainted, 1980

“AS YOU PROCEED THROUGH LIFE, FOLLOWING YOUR OWN PATH, BIRDS WILL SHIT ON YOU.

DON’T BOTHER TO BRUSH IT OFF.”

-Joseph Campbell

I was thinking about my father the other day. He had a corporate job at General Motors.

He was an alcoholic.

Didn’t really know how to parent that well.

I don’t really know too many things that I’m sure he loved.. (He died when he was 51).

Nature was a solace to him. Working with his hands creating things in his workshop.

He tried so hard to be something he wasn’t.

And drank away the sorrow and confusion and disappointment.

I get it but what a waste.

That whole 50’s thing of the American Dream.

It seems we’re ALL over that one but what’s next for us?

These days I feel like I have zero energy to dust myself off after those birds have shit on me.

It would mean doing the laundry and folding it and walking into the closet and grabbing hangars and hanging clothes back up and picking out new and clean ones that go together that don’t have buttons or ties and don’t look too worn or out-of-date and sitting down on the bed and picking my right leg up with two hands to put the sock on but dropping the leg and picking it up…

You get the idea..

The point of this being that I have a weird preference in my mind and feel grateful for the hard work it takes me just to barely function in a way that lets me make some sort of authentic contribution like this blog.

The key word here is AUTHENTIC.

Yes, the birds shit on me like everyone else on the planet.

I guess the difference is that what I carry left by the birds is visible to everyone I come in contact with.

Do I long for the luxury and elan of a stretch limo to whisk me away in it’s sleek blackness and drop me surreptitiously backstage so I don’t dirty my Armani gown in greasy puddles left after a rain?

Funny… no I don’t.

I love my life because I haven’t the energy anymore to go after ANYTHING that is not authentic to me.

It’s a new girl on the block.

Perfectly imperfect.

I wrote that and my insides go: “YEAH, right…..”

The real girl is a work in progress but I think she’s headed in the right direction.

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