10 January 2013
This is what our mornings look like. This was probably about 7/7:30am this morning. Dark, cold, damp. The heating has just kicked on. The full-spectrum light (I call it the “blue-light”) has just turned on. And the combination of the blue light, of the warm light from the lamp, of the turquoise curtain and gold hues of the room have made a pink-and-purple sunrise. It’s an interesting palate of real and artificial colorings.
I love what you said today: “I am still thinking about that. Of unexpected details. Of opportunities disguised as possible setbacks. Maybe all we need is to think differently.”
I’m still thinking of a lot of things.
When people ask me how I am, I say: It has been “a week”. I mean that as though these kinds of weeks are their own entities. Like “what a day.” Like “what a week.” Like: “I’m trying to remember how life usually feels without a weight like this.” I’ve been reading Bukowski:
For those who believe in God, most of the big questions are answered. But for those of us who can’t readily accept the God formula, the big answers don’t remain stone-written. We adjust to new conditions and discoveries. We are pliable. Love need not be a command nor faith a dictum. I am my own god. We are here to unlearn the teachings of the church, state, and our educational system. We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us.
– Charles Bukowski, Life Magazine, December 1988
Something I love about Bukowski is his brutal honesty, his directness. His assuredness, and his “just damn it all” attitude. But mostly, I love that his truth cuts down to the bone. It makes life feel less ominous in the tougher parts.
I know I owe you letters. I just wanted to get you this one, just this one tonight.