An eye infection grew into a mind bending headache last night leaving me work early, drawing the curtains and sleeping till the middle of the night when, wide eyed and bushy tailed, I lay in bed obsessing about my own mortality and the mindbendingly meaninglessness of everything.
And the complete waste of time and effort blogging is.
“If I should labor through daylight and dark,
Consecrate, valorous, serious, true,
Then on the world I may blazon my mark;
And what if I don’t, and what if I do”
This is exactly my feeling about rock nyc and writing fiction and really simply the in and outs of being alive: I agree with the Tao Te Ching: do what you do then move on because if you’ve done what you can there is not much more to be added.
I used to love the writer Murray Kempton. A brilliant political columnist. Who mentions him nowadays? What do all those words amount to?
Or one of my fave journalists critics Pauline Kael -the name means something to those of us who know but all those wonderful reviews are gone. Vincent Canby.
And these guys are superstars.
Here and gone and compared to the transience of running a website a symbol of eternity.
So feeling that sense of existential nothingness, and I’m sure you have felt it yourself, I found myself embracing the complete irrelevance, the way effort leads to grace: the way Helen and I spending so much time on something with no intrinsic value is a good way to spend out time. Because its valueless is its saving grace.
At 230 in the morning, when you realize you are wasting yours and every elses time, the other side of the story is always there.
And what if I don’t?
And what if I do?