#254

The main problem of a public diarist, or at any rate, this public diarist (me) is that the past is more vital and pressing than the present in many ways, but we all know it does little good to dwell on the past. Nevertheless, I do anyway, and suffer from hemorrhoids accordingly. We all have our personal regrettable effects with implacable causes. However, I try not to focus on the past as much as wont, so often prefer to write about something relevant, if not topical. 

Another snag in the execution of this succession of formerly blank text fields is that one is supposed to write about oneself. Perhaps this seems easily resolved by pointing out that one writes about oneself even if one is simply setting out to describe the weather, just as it is impossible for a painter not to tell you a certain amount about themselves from the way they execute a portrait, or choose colors for a meadow. Not so fast! It is also very possible to lie about oneself this way, and be believed, even internally--oh, how many times has the actor confused qualities illustrated through the subject with qualities they possess!

Of course, art is always in a sense striving past the creator and subject into something that transcends and compasses both. We can very well become the lies we tell, which may be an excellent thing or a very sad.

At any rate, in brief, it is a complicated, toilsome thing to be honest. It is difficult to talk about oneself completely and honestly, even trivially and honesty. I try to be honest in this space, which sometimes means even my most flippant, errant, ridiculous play-nonsense costs a certain emotional toil and is produced under conditions of rigor.

Did I mention I suffer from hemorrhoids? 

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So, often, as a crutch, I resort to what I've been reading. What I have read, and what I mean to read. 

Well, it's happening again, right the fuck now. Strap in.

Finished The Magic Mountain, by Thomas Mann. Once again the universe has been metered and just in saving me for a book until precisely when I am prepared to come to it. This book would have done me absolutely no good at all on the first readthrough even last year. War and Peace had to come first, as well as living through the last six years even up to this present moment. Even watching through Downton Abbey recently as I neared the book's conclusion--all part of a clockwork universe's planned and destined rollout, at least from my reading perspective. 

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Ok gotta go peace

--JL

edit: I really did have to sprint out just before I was really ready to finish. All there was to say is that I have begun to read Waiting For Godot, by Thomas Beckett.