Monthly Archives: April 2016

The Artist

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princeI can’t believe Prince died. I’m still reeling from losing Bowie, and now this. Why must our most talented, original artists live such ephemeral lives? I understand the drug ODs and the suicides and the murders for the under-30 set. It takes a certain depth of passionate feeling to make great art, and the aforementioned ways to die are part and parcel with a greatly sensitive and brilliant young life. I don’t expect those who have made it past, say, 35 to die of an overdose. And I suspect there aren’t a lot of data to support this expectation, but I’m shocked every time.

Philip Seymour Hoffman.

Like Bowie, I took for granted Prince’s immortality, and now he’s gone. Continue reading →

Gaslit

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gaslitMy perceptions of reality became so wholly dependent on external validation that I pretty much stopped having them. Or maybe I had them, but couldn’t access them. It was as though what I was sensing had to be passed through the filter of someone else’s perception. I had to get someone’s opinion on whatever was before me in order to even sense it sometimes, that’s how far outside myself I was living. Continue reading →