Sunday Night

around 9pm i caught a scent that took me back to those sunday nights when i was a kid.

fresh, spring, night, slightly damp, chilly, some plants, freshly aired house, etc. it was the smell of a weekend that was now over and another week of school was to begin.

in terms of production i’ve been terribly off the rails with the last painting being finished about a month and a half ago.

and the one before that

and i’m sitting on another 2 or 3 clown paintings that i haven’t photographed yet.

i’m not sure where i’m going with all of this. clowns seem to be the perfect metaphor at the moment but i’m not sure for what.

i’m getting haggard, i know.

To Be Somewhere

As part of my robotics studies in college I built a robot that, amongst other things, steer around an object. If there was an impact, however, it would also play a midi version of a Neil Diamond song.

Three things occured to me during my presentation–I am:

  • unreasonable
  • impractical
  • quirky (humorously so–I hope)

To sooth myself from any internal critique I like to believe that this is just part of my charm–like a delightful character from a Dickens novel…some sort of tech/future version of Wilkins Micawber.

And during this trawl through the memory it brought me back to the 90s. Being terminally uncool it was natural that I ended up watching every possible UFO documentary I could find in addition to being a big X-Files fan. The desire to believe that there’s something just outside of this terribly dry reality is just too good to pass up.

Also, let’s remember that this was the golden age of the internet. It was just mental to be on the internet in the mid-late 90s. Everything just seemed to be important and you always felt like you were right on the cusp of something big. One more search, another page and BOOM! the truth would be revealed.

It was amazing. One of those rare frontiers that only certain people alive at certain times get to experience.

Now, of course, this is sinking into just ridiculous nostalgia and I apologize for that. But as I sat at this computer today and tried to hack out some new code for projects that served a purpose I couldn’t help but dwell on the notion that there can be only so much business code written.

Sure, self driving cars are cool but they’re only really cool if everyone gets one. And, the ironic-twilight zone-consequences of this new reality will be that only the rich can afford to drive their own cars on private tracks while the rest of us are ushered around on our endless commute from office job to home and back.

Similarly, Facebooks is great for connecting with all your friends so long as you keep using Facebook. Stop using it for a while and you suddenly find out how lonely of a world this place can be.

Perhaps it is just me being plagued by a childish refusal to concede when left with no other option. Something got left out of me when I was being built and I find that the part of me that should just “go along” with things is missing and/or broken. I glitch out–see another possibility and desire for that to be the real one. Then spend the rest of my time trying to find a path to it or just simply build it myself.

Blanket Life

It’s the torment of finishing a movie where you know the characters are going to continue having an interesting life and you wake up to your surroundings and realize that they’re gone.

Terminal Nostalgia

I got through quiet spells. To force conversation or words or even utterances past a couple syllables from me is near impossible.

I don’t enjoy this quietude. My brain is active–always thinking, planning. Entire projects get built in my mind from beginning to end. Plans are seen to fruition. Lives come and go.

But there I sit thinking.

It is in these moments that nostalgia hits. I live vast lives in worlds I’ve never seen. In times I’ve never been a part of and places I’ll never go. The causes of such a nostalgia can be anything from an old song to a glance at an advertisement. Old movies, buildings, etc.

The nostalgia is certainly terminal. It causes action to die and a life ever after to be lived in my head.

How many times must I be an tragic film noir figure before the end credits finally roll?