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whenever i allow the inevitable deterioration of things, relationships and hopes to drag me down to the depths of deepest depression, i remember this etching from art history class:
now, consider that the first time i laid eyes on this uplifting piece, it was just after 8AM, stomach probably empty and/or turgid from any manner of chemical intake, broke as only a student can be... without cash, wheels or feminine companionship for months. poor, poor pitiful me. one glance into the etched eyes of StAnthony, and you know he's having the real Shit Day. hands down. but you know how he must have felt... though he did have divine influence, supposedly. the kind that made him hide away from the rest of humanity and then monasteries were born. so, yeah... the past few weeks brought the image back. one of the reasons for letting the writing go was the constant woeful repetition without resolution. nobody getting what they want... regardless of what they actually need. present company included. my approach: you don't fix it, you don't get to bitch about it. i just wish the motivators would be positive ones, occasionally, though maybe i just don't see them, yet... because they've been sporting some pretty nasty camouflage, at this point. all the same, it just seems comical, now. the gravity. the over-whelmed-ness. that rolled-back-in-the-socket pleading eyes. pity the fool. because there are bigger fish to fry. real ones. ma�ana. |
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