Endless amounts of coffee framed by wooden tables and concentrating on the characters and the words, inscribed through the directions of thought out there in sincerity somewhere, striving for a sort of upright feeling I might figure out, some kind of curious self-congratulatory explanation or maybe an act that corresponds with a thought in a real way, as much as I can tell, for what it is worth. And yet the anxiety out there somewhere, the curving features of numinous wanderings, the acts and the repetitions, the innate setup of situations and people, decisions that make something happen, a decision to be somewhere, or not to be somewhere, a decision reinforced somehow with good thought and feeling, energy in positive form. One can drive all night trying to get somewhere and never get there, but after a while there has to be something done between here and there regardless, and a hope of some kind, of some kind of recognition in the form that appears with itself in an idea of the kind of reality, or the kind of force of the actual and now somewhere, some kind of idea where things are good enough, that things change, people remain, and the rivers keep on flowing somewhere and that it can all come around into the kind of simplicity that I see, or at least think about and think is right.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Tuesday, February 01, 2011
The problems that I find, I seem to find having completed somewhere else, in some other mind, in some other day, long ago. I get flashes somewhere, some kind of green heat in the ends of the words, a completion through the times of other details, the energies of women walking around, long black braids and headscarves, creating double shot espressos and other complicated drinks in the laughing curving understanding coming from the thick wood tables that have been rapped upon and sat next to through decades of light and ranges of focus, and the strings of various bands altering their structure somehow, and the river going by so close to here. There must be some idea in there somewhere.
A dude walks in with a thick leather jacket, just have gotten off a heavy motorcycle, not the type to get on a bicycle and ride around, but he comes in to do complicated graphic design work on a fast computer, and might be from eastern europe or something, or maybe I just got that all wrong. In other words, a new resident of the tables along with the college students, and all of the plants and the changing relaxations of details, and the violinists and the trombonist in town for a while from up somewhere in washington, who can play a beautiful rendition of Cole Porter, singing and playing like he is having happy things to say.
The crazed Neil Cassidy ripping around through the streets consciousness is not that far off, as the details of life can be immensely interesting, as dull as they can seem from some perspectives. From some perspectives, this is just a still life with laptops, but things change every day. The buildings and geography are the same, but little differences and new interactions and societies add up to good things at times. I suppose. In any case, it's all about making the right choices, I suppose, or having a good direction, but hopefully combined with those unknown flashes of inspiration and consciousness and music that define art and life.
Lots of interesting people in the Beanery. You could make the mistake of thinking that all people are like this, but that is categorically not the case....this is one environment and there are so many others.
Posted by Chris Farrell at 2/01/2011