“I paint what I see and not what others like to see.”~ Édouard Manet
“Why harrow oneself by looking on the worst side? Because it is sometimes necessary.” ~ Agatha Christie
“Given its old-fashioned means and limited subject matter, realism is quite incapable of describing the complexity of contemporary experience.” ~ Ursula K. Le Guin
“I took to fantasy like a duckling to water. Unfortunately for me, there was nobody around then to tell me that fantasy was the most realistic of arts, expressing as it does the contents of the human soul directly.” ~ Joanna Russ
There is frost on the windows of my car. 26º. I love it. Then again, I like to think the weather is not a PR stunt, that Mother Nature doesn’t make mistakes. So it’s nearly the end of May. So what? Baby, it’s cold outside. I like to be a realist, though not so much in my writing. I agree with what Ms. Le Guin wrote in the quote above. Rigid reality just freaks me out, likely because it has such a “man behind the curtain” potential. Okay, so I don’t like rigid reality. And I reckon it’s okay that I don’t like it. Nor do I care for a bright-sided view of the world and how we approach it. Nor do . . . now wait just a darned minute here. I am in no mood to discuss the nature of reality. The nurturance of the soul would be a more appropriate venue for my current mood. Would that I could, if I had the time. And you know what? I have a mood disorder, so what do I know anyway. My dear friend, Lady Di, and I – over a beer and a smoke -liked to say that depressives actually have a more realistic view of the world. She had a mood disorder as well. But what does that mean, anyway? Were we just rationalizing our medical conditions? Yeh, whatever. Diane passed up on a full scholarship to MIT, in applied mathematics, to follow the Grateful Dead. What’s up with that, right? I was not diagnosed back then, but I knew what was happening with me. I intuited the bipolar disorder, and I knew it only remotely resembled the vernacular use of the term “bipolar”. That was back in the early 1990s. By 2000 I’d come to intuit the PTSD as well. The diagnosis came in 2014. Having an actual psychiatrist agree with my assessment was no comfort at all, though the subsequently prescribed meds were indeed a comfort, and I have no notion of stopping them for now. Go figure. I’d already tried numerous natural remedies before 2014 and my body was like all “Awww, dude, really?”. And no, my meds don’t make me all dopey and stuff. Why I am on about this this morning is a mystery, and it shall remain so. It’s time to shower and head out into the world. I’m not too concerned about what manner of reality I will find out there today, because I know how to conjure up authentic happiness, and that doesn’t mean I am always cheerful. I’m not. Geez Louise, now I’m on the verge of discussing the nature of happiness. Best get going. Tally ho!
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.