Pedestal

The realization of choice. I have choice. Every day, I make choices. Reaction, decision, desired outcomes, wants, needs. To take care of myself, to not take care of myself. What do I spend my energy focusing on? What am I trying to control?

I am sitting upstairs in my office. I am writing down my thoughts as they come to me. I am attempting some form of clairvoyance with myself that takes me out of pattern. Why am I always worried? What is the obsession with perception? I have no control over perception. I can only try to be honest with myself and the world. But do I succeed in that? Lately, it feels like it's rare.

I don’t want to be in my head. I want to be in the world and in communication. I watch things vapidly. I occupy time and don’t take in media meaningfully. I am craving a feeling of connection and push. I am not tapped into the excited child that I was.

I remember being made fun of often. And sometimes brutally. For my affections and loves of trivial things. I can remember a point in my life when I felt completely alive while taking in art and media. I can remember watching others get made fun of for being excited and wanting interesting things to happen for themselves and their friends and their community. Coolness was the killer.

What has the desire for cool or niche culture done for me, when pitted against the larger cultural institutions? There’s good natured conversation to be had about engaging with art and culture that touch corporate entities, and feed into the hand of awful human decisions. But on an artistic level, I’m remiss that I’ve tried to couch my love for things that I worry might be too mainstream, or misunderstood. Because I’ve watched people be made fun of for their loves.

Why am I feeding into the hand of wanting to be accepted by people who do not accept others? Or elevate their taste as a form of superiority? The pedestal is the killer, always. I can only hope to get back in touch with the excited child. The idea that Michael Gira does not laugh at a fart once every so often is absurd. I feel we’ve created super villains out of our heroes when I watch young artists conduct themselves. Including myself. Can I free myself from the reigning oppression of coolness?