< calming down >

[rayheinrich]

Love. I've never been a frantic artist, letting each craft go when composing it in my
mind became enough, amen to your sister.

While my sister's statement reads as a cautionary comment about the alienating effects
of art, she openly embraced using her art to avoid any and all unpleasant social interactions;
or, at least, to try to bend them to her will.  She did the photography for her own wedding!
She used us as manikins in ridiculously bizarre tableaux (there were black crepe masks and
baby bottles filled with blood). She even used my other sister as her stand-in for the alter shots.
My other sister remarked: "Do I get to fuck him too?" (Though, technically, since he'd been
her boyfriend first, she already had.)

I would love to say I don't scribble on stuff all the time anymore because I've calmed down,
but it's really because I've lost most of the fucks I once had.  Like everything in this nasty
capitalist world, the actual value has diminished remarkably.  

Still, it means that it's easier to recognise when a fuck is important, rather than just a
noise in the background.

Well, yes, while I'd like to claim that my calming is a product of an inner peace derived from a
sublime spiritual centering of some sort, the truth is that terminally-depressed cynics, if not
approached too closely, look remarkably calm. The same can be said of the dead.
(Which reminds me of a Pollyanna "Glad Book" parody: "Pollyanna's Political Prison".)