J'ai rendu compte...

Friday, November 12, 2004

I'm a girl who likes to go out, to parties, housewarmings, nightclubs, bars. I like to drink, and dance, talk shit and be ridiculous. I don't know why, but it's a part of me. And when I take a leave of absence, it's never for long. And I can't shut up but sometimes I really have nothing to say.

The husband, he stays at home. He's a real writer, in the sense that he actually writes everyday. And, this is the thing that he likes to do best. It's a bit strange to say, but between staying at home and writing his new installment, or going out to a party, he'll stay at home. Sometimes when I come home, he's still parked in front of the computer, giggling to himself as he taps away.

Recently he asked me why I need to go out? Was I afraid of myself? Did I need other people's attention and adoration? Was I insecure?(!)

Yes, but it's more than that. It's true I can't live long without looking for an audience. But would you say someone like Chad Black has some sort of social disorder because he needs to perform? Or would you say that we can excuse his social disorder because it's makes him the funniest guy alive? Would Dacnar be less critical of my social leanings if someone this gained me fame or respect? When I concentrated only on making him laugh, there weren't any complaints.

The need to go out...it's about fantasy, looking for an adventure, or simply searching for the moment when the spirits rise together to create a situation legendary. We're looking for the legend, even if just as spectators. We belong to the night, we ride fast on bikes, we dash around like whirlygigs looking for the beau geste, we bubble like popinjays for a line that will hold for a couple of seconds. It's a life lived in packages too small to count, in fragments of time. We're fame seekers, children of too much television, media, magazines, fashion, knowing the dos and laughing at the don'ts, socially over-educated wastrels, specialists in a sport that has no school but unending rewards.

I can't deny there is an element of weakness in all of this. It's like living with a never-ending addiction. If I had known that leaving the house that night when I was 16 to get wasted would lead to a life of dissolution and intoxication would I have still done it? The beast seems stronger than the master. Before that age my life was based on one best friend, masturbation, school, and books. The simple life. Now, everything is more complicated, there's never a moment to spare, and money objects, things go flying in and out of windows.

In truth, if there is one thing to be said, when I look back at it all, is that the adventures, a good number of them, were worthwhile; good friends, funny moments, terrible jokes, dastardly dance moves and libidos held and released. My life has been marked by simple little creations, tiny odes, some things published, some shows played, some art shown, and a thunderous non-stop search for a place where the internal spirit's weight ceases to exist.

But, perhaps with the new ways of evaluating ones future combinatory gene power we're all madly circulating in the hope to get the best bargain buy.