renots
09-14-2000, 05:31 PM
by a truely beautiful (http://www.midnightwriter.com/) friend of mine
Creativity
I called jesse. we were still at that point in the relationship when we could call on each other for help. When he arrived he looked upset. I put my arms around him. It was more than me and my car. He had bad news. My bass had been stolen. Along with the other instruments in his house last night. Luckily, most of the equipment was locked in the studio.
"It must have been someone I know," he said. No consolation there. Good musicians on the Reggae scene are not always ethical-thanks to crack. "I'll replace your bass with the insurance money." Then he handed me an opal that the thieves dropped when they emptied his dresser. "You might as well have this," he said,"It's the only thingthey left. And it's your birthday." Then he towed my car.
It wouldn't have been so bad except this was the 2nd engine I blew up. I was going on an engine a month.
Frankie's 'Ol Man said,"Tell Maggie I'm gonna buy her a bicycle- she'd have better luck."
Raven's 'Ol Man just kept fixin' my cars.
I analyzed it, concluding as Picasso had, every act of creation is an act of destruction. I create destructions so I create solutions. I may not be Van Gogh, but I'm demented and Marcel Proust would be proud of me.
It's like taking the name Maggie. It was a derogatory nickname, given to me by an ex-boyfriend from an old Rod Stewart song. The other girls took the chic names. It was like giving the wrong answer on a test so the rest of the class could have an advantage.
That, I found out, is not the object of the game. When I was in first grade I did that, wrote down the wrong anser to a simple arithmetic problem just to give the competition the edge. It takes a special kind of stupid. Or extreme faith in oneself. I'd like to think it's extreme faith. But now I think maybe I'm my own saboteur. Maybe it's time to stop messing around. Before I flunk Life.
~~~
In between wating for Slim to fix my car I got to know Raven's little girl, Melody. We climbed the fig tree or played Barbies while her dad worked on my car. She became my surrogate daughter. After I moved moved out from jesse she'd come over for the weekend and visit me while her mom went to see a friend in prison. We'd play music and dance in the mirror. Melody had 1/2 Indian blood. She danced at the Pow-Wow held every summer on the reservation. At my place she'd dress up in my clothes and twirl, giggling st her reflection. I'd tell her she was "really somthing". Special.
My studio apartment had just enough room for my easel, my amp and my bed. Everything else hung from the walls or ceilings. Melody looked around the place-to look around, all yuo had to do was turn around. To her it was creative.
She said,"Maggie, you live like this because you're an artist. Right?"
~~~
;0)
Creativity
I called jesse. we were still at that point in the relationship when we could call on each other for help. When he arrived he looked upset. I put my arms around him. It was more than me and my car. He had bad news. My bass had been stolen. Along with the other instruments in his house last night. Luckily, most of the equipment was locked in the studio.
"It must have been someone I know," he said. No consolation there. Good musicians on the Reggae scene are not always ethical-thanks to crack. "I'll replace your bass with the insurance money." Then he handed me an opal that the thieves dropped when they emptied his dresser. "You might as well have this," he said,"It's the only thingthey left. And it's your birthday." Then he towed my car.
It wouldn't have been so bad except this was the 2nd engine I blew up. I was going on an engine a month.
Frankie's 'Ol Man said,"Tell Maggie I'm gonna buy her a bicycle- she'd have better luck."
Raven's 'Ol Man just kept fixin' my cars.
I analyzed it, concluding as Picasso had, every act of creation is an act of destruction. I create destructions so I create solutions. I may not be Van Gogh, but I'm demented and Marcel Proust would be proud of me.
It's like taking the name Maggie. It was a derogatory nickname, given to me by an ex-boyfriend from an old Rod Stewart song. The other girls took the chic names. It was like giving the wrong answer on a test so the rest of the class could have an advantage.
That, I found out, is not the object of the game. When I was in first grade I did that, wrote down the wrong anser to a simple arithmetic problem just to give the competition the edge. It takes a special kind of stupid. Or extreme faith in oneself. I'd like to think it's extreme faith. But now I think maybe I'm my own saboteur. Maybe it's time to stop messing around. Before I flunk Life.
~~~
In between wating for Slim to fix my car I got to know Raven's little girl, Melody. We climbed the fig tree or played Barbies while her dad worked on my car. She became my surrogate daughter. After I moved moved out from jesse she'd come over for the weekend and visit me while her mom went to see a friend in prison. We'd play music and dance in the mirror. Melody had 1/2 Indian blood. She danced at the Pow-Wow held every summer on the reservation. At my place she'd dress up in my clothes and twirl, giggling st her reflection. I'd tell her she was "really somthing". Special.
My studio apartment had just enough room for my easel, my amp and my bed. Everything else hung from the walls or ceilings. Melody looked around the place-to look around, all yuo had to do was turn around. To her it was creative.
She said,"Maggie, you live like this because you're an artist. Right?"
~~~
;0)