Like not enough everything and too much something.
How will you feel this afternoon?
I’m trying to live in the moment, man.
How is that going?
Scared of the moment.
Has the moment ever been kind to you?
Yes. This morning I did a metta meditation. I loved a man I love. I loved a woman named Kathleen, whom I feel neutral toward. I loved a boy I was mad at. I visualized an ice sculpture of this woman spouting water out of her head and down her body infinitely. Then I thought about putting her in a poem and realized she can’t be made of ice. She needs to be pink. I turned her into a Jolly Rancher woman spouting Jolly Rancher juice. Watermelon.
Do you think that makes you creative?
I hope you are impressed.
Projecting my script on the face of another human is not the vaccine for boredom, gravity or formaldehyde.
Sometimes it feels like it is.
What do you do then?
Make explosions, mostly in my heart and head—sometimes in my face. Try to learn from them.
Laugh at the words dirt nap.
Do you think you’re special?
Ok yes. Sometimes I forget other people are real.
Don’t say that out loud.
But you are special.
‘Cause I want the most cake. I know you know that.
‘Cause it feels good for like 30 seconds.
Then I want more cake.
Then I try to get more and more and more cake, or make a cake happen, and inevitably get trapped in a cave of my own making.
How do you get out?
I use my voice. I cry out. Someone always comes and shines a light. Usually I am able to see it.
So why even try for the cake in the first place?
I don’t know. I’m just wired that way. I want serenity and it always seems like the cake will give me serenity.
What really gives you serenity?
Humility. Being a worker among workers. Humility is actually really beautiful when you can get it. It isn’t drudgery at all. I just always think it will be boring and so as soon as a cake appears on the horizon I go for the cake. Or I invent a cake. But humility is actually the real glitter.
Humility feels good?
It does. It feels great. It feels the best of them all.