dusk

I’m going in order this time…

And once you hit Post Office…

Man…

There’s stuff in there that makes you want to cry.

To where you might see a perpetually horny drunk, I see a man doing battle with a machine.

Any passes judgment on others, and he accuses them of lacking bravery. . But he falls into the same fucking thing..

Just like everybody else. And he hides his light under a bushel, And he gets drunk at night and listens to Beethoven, and then he finds the typewriter..

If he didn’t have that one thing, that one skill, that one portal…

He would be no different.

No different than all those souls you’ve noticed during a day.

All those cars passing through intersections. All of those millions and millions and millions and millions.

And there’s something about him that hurts me to the core.

And I am no stranger to pain…

(he is drunk and you are not)

But we all have talking computers in our heads…

(inferior computers)..

Yes..

And I can feel sadness setting in like a blanket.. muddy water starting to settle, and everything drifts to the bottom.. succumbs to gravity…

(why the attraction?)

The portal.

And clean up your sentence..”why the attraction to the work?”

Why notice what an artist does…

Because the person is not worth it..the art is .. sometimes…

Sigh…

There’s a story in Post Office about an old man named GeeGee..

And he holds his simple job and simple life for 30 fuckin years..

And then he starts to falter..

Then it starts to beat him.

And he can only put his head in his hands and sob..

(and that moment was captured)

By the artist..

Or conjured altogether…it makes no difference..

What matters is that it’s real.

And that’s how you become immortal… And it has nothing to do with the booze or the casual sex…or the day job,for that matter…

……

Hurts me to the core…

…….

Not many people can do that…

Especially at this age…

At this point in the marathon..