February 21, 2004
Near the Shoes Always
I think in heaven "Near You Always" by Jewel and "Blackbird" by the Beatles play from time to time. And there it is easy to forgive and forget worries, because how can anyone hold onto angst when a guitar is playing like that?
It might just be easiest to pretend or at least try harder to be always light and joyful, especially to the nearest and dearest, until I graduate. I can be myself at home.
I do not think my heart has ever been in the teeth of another. It is the way karma works, I do not think I have yet gnashed the aorta of another.
I also bet heaven would include diagrams that match my Biology homework.
For anyone who writes, I have a question. How much should one allow outside criticism to affect one's work and inspire? I showed four and a half pages to two people who both picked up on a somewhat unintended ominous tone that both are anxiously searching for the cause. I have not yet re-read my pages into detail to see what the ominous tone is and to see how it really functions in the work. Always hesitant to disappoint I have a somewhat unexpected reasoning coming, which would probably involve me borrowing a little from the life of a friend of mine who will never see the work. Or probably will not.
I do not think one should distort self-expression to the extent that the audience is all that matters, but at the same time I think it is naive and irresponsible to ignore the fact that the audience is a factor. Sure a work may provide the artist satisfaction, but if no one "gets" it how well did the artist express himself?
When I walk around doing ordinary things in heels, not in the house, I feel like I am one step closer to being a C-list celebrity. The real reason for the dozens of shoes is finally out. Can I help it if I not-so-secretly want to be a commentator for a VH1 "Let's Rehash the Past" special? If I go to Syracuse I may be in the class of one such commentator who studies pop culture and is probably one of the most frequently seen academics. America. America!
Wearing a hat makes me feel that way a little bit too, since I am not really a hat person. It is something along the lines 'oooh, someone might spot me, I'm sure this hat'll make me disappear!' When I saw my Lit teacher at Lost in Translation he was wearing a black baseball cap and it made me think he was going out incognito. Baseball hats usually make me think brilliant director or starlet, so congratulations to Mr. Cooke for playing the evening's cinematic visionary.
I am a tired, lazy bum.
Love,
Mandy