I Have Decided Something. And I'm Not Quite Sure What.

Yes. I have. Let me repeat it once again for all of you. I have decided something and I'm not quite sure what. And this is not to be confused with that classic Christmas tune, "There's Something Stuck Up in the Chimney and I Don't Know What it is." Or maybe it's exactly like that song.

Anyway. I have decided something. Or perhaps I have discovered something. And if I have discovered something, I should make it clear that I do not quite know what I have discovered. It's not a dead animal or the clap. But I'm not quite sure what is up with this discovery stuff. Or this deciding stuff.

And that's not entirely true. But as you all know. I am a Gemini. And that means that I am incredibly tangential. And sometimes I forget where I started. But that isn't really the point. The point is I will most certainly twist and turn and weave throughout the course of post. And you my dear friends are merely along for the ride. I am rambling about everything. And nothing in particular.

Life is interesting. I think we can all agree with that statement. Even the most cynical among us should be able to agree with the word interesting. And it has become quite clear to me that the overwhelming majority of people don't really live life. They exist. Or survive. But they don't live. And so I'm thinking about living and what this really means.

So I went where anyone would go for answer to questions about life. The internet. Actually I was looking for definitions. And I don't have a dictionary in my office. So I checked it and here's what I found on one particular unnamed site. What. Did you think I was going to provide you with a link did you. I am not shamelessly promoting this site. Nope. Anyway. On said unnamed sight, there are seven definitions of live. Not the be confused with the band Live. And I use the term "band" loosely when referring to Live. You all know how I feel about that whole "her placenta falls to the floor" lyric. If that isn't enough to make one an axe murderer, I don't know what is.

Anyway. Defining. To live. Seven defintions. There's your recap. Here we go. So it isn't until I read down to number six that I found this: "to pursure a positive, satisfying existance." And I wonder why I had to travel down through five defintions including to subsist, to exist, and to support onesself before I reached this particular definiton. What does that say about how we view life and why so many people do not really live it. I ponder this.

I have always believed that language shapes the way the think. The way we feel. The way we act. Our world view. This is why I have an obsession with words. The words we choose to use. The string of words we assemble to create phrases. The meanings attached. All of these things influence our thought process. Some might say it is a chicken or egg question. But I believe we (and others) brainwash our Selves a little bit every day because of the way we use language.

I know people that don't have such a word obsession. In fact, I know people that are so unobsessed with words that that communicating with them is similar to my poor attempt at conversing in Spanish with a native speaker. I never know what tense I'm speaking in and you would be amazed at how profoundly that can impact conversation. Or maybe you wouldn't be amazed. The point is simple. We need words. We need language. And communicating with those who are not cognizant of the ways in which language impacts their thought process can be like sticking bamboo under your fingernails while sitting on a hot tin roof.

And let me also say I am tickled that I was able to use the word cognizant in the previous paragraph. Let's say it together shall we. Cognizant. Beautiful.

So back to life and living. Here's a little story. I used to work for Company F. And I won't go into how much I hated working for Company F. But I did. And those of you who know about my Company F experience understand. You know what I am talking about. You know about my daily vomiting sessions that I somehow justified as normal. But the point. Yes. The point. Company F did stuff. This stuff provided treatment for specific terminally ill diseases to specific terminally ill people. And when I say specific as in people, I mean people who could either pay, or who were so poor that they were able to qualify for state medical assistance, which doesn't seem to be anyone anymore. Essentially, we killed these terminally ill people and brought them back to life. Sometimes.

But I digress. As I always do.

So I had this job with Company F and I worked with terminally ill people at Company F and you would have thought that perhaps this experience taught me a little something about living. And you would have thought that the realization that one should not continue to work in an environment that caused them to vomit on a daily basis would have taught said person something about living.

But it didn't.

Because I wasn't ready.

And that happens I suppose. So I continued to work in misery at Company F until I was forceably thrown back into a yin/yang balance. And I understood. Sort of. But I didn't quite learn. Not completely. Until now.

I wonder if sometimes we are presented with lessons that we are not quite ready to chew and swallow and digest so we store them like squirrels storing nuts for winter. And then one day winter arrives. And the lessons are there. Perfectly preserved and waiting to be injested.

Sometimes the lessons are simple. As if we knew the answers all along on some level of consciousness, but we didn't see, smell, feel, taste, or otherwise become intimate with complete clarity.

So life. It's this funny thing.

Recently, I was having a conversation with a very wise friend. This is an individual I have known for a long time through another very wise friend. But we were never really more than casual acquaintenances until recently. So we are talking at the HMG about the role that art plays in one's life. The passion that accompanies the creative process that is as essential as breathing. And the rung it occupies on the ladder of priorities. And I am explaining something about this and he says something in return that almost knocks me to the ground. He inferred. He implied. He basically stated in a way that I could not overlook or ignore, that I am an artist.

The shock. The horror.

But I'm not an artist. I've never called myself an artist. I have many friends that are artists. I call them artists. But not me. An artist. Nope.

And I wonder why I can have such an open and broadly sweeping definition of what art is and what an artist is, but I have never thought of myself as such.

So here I am. Sitting there. At the HMG. In the freakin' cold because my very wise friend is a smoker and I am such a good friend that I will brave said cold for said smoker. No need to thank me. And I realize in this moment all of the things about living that I have forgotten. Or never knew. Things that I have been fighting. For a long fucking time.

Oh come on. You didn't think I could get through a post without a bit of profanity did you.

And I speak of all these things to the very wise friend that introduced me to the very wise former acquaintenance now friend. And he essentially gave me a pat on the back, albeit verbally, and a "good job kid" as he often does when I finally come to accept things that he has been trying to explain to me for the past nine years.