Thinking about it, I say this all the time too, my favorite authors are those who whine. They write from their hearts. J.D. Salinger, I think took this to an intellectual level, aware of the appropriative qualities of the format. Poe, Goethe’s Wether, . It’s not idle- it’s full of potential. I think of my audience- it’s myself, sort of. It’s a younger version of myself, it’s myself up until the
moment of writing. Problem can be that I don’t say anything constructive at all. There’s a tendency towards polemic. It’s terribly relatable. I think of the anecdote from Jorodowsky- he’d written this screenplay, and some other director took it on, and failed at it- the movie was terrible. Jorodowsky and his son in the theater relished the failure of the unfortunate director. How human that is, he noted, to be thrilled at someone’s shortcoming. Goethe says in Werther that there is nothing so unfortunate as a bad attitude- windows and mirrors. A friend asked what my art would look like if I made it as Robert rather than Kemeys. I had a dream where my mother called me Robbie, and my sexual non-blood aunt was there- it was a dream centered about my youth. My colors flooded, and water abounded. I called my mom yesterday. She’d just finished her big fund raiser project which is centered around alleviating hunger in her county. She called me Kemeys. Last night I must have dreamed about piglets. When I meditate, I’ll nearly hyperventilate in two sections, and vivid flourishes go while I hold my breath. In such a state did I see piglets, in a pre-natal from, glistening. I couldn’t hold on to the memory- a wall developed in my mind. This comes from reading another circus book. I’ve written since 2013 at least, into this blog. This morning I realized I’d dreamt of Noah, and maybe Abraham. I proclaimed my Jewishness, to the disapproval of a Jewish figure.
Stayed late last night. Was turned down for a landscape residency. I hope I am changing.
