I nudge my cardiovascular system by extending my daily journey from the Dark Kitchen Room to The Light Room Of Many Windows and the kitchen and the light room of many windows and…the… It sure is bright in there. There’s a world of difference between them. Both serve a purpose. But really. Who would choose to volunteer for such an experiment? The Study Of Adaptation From The Perspective Of Extremes.
Once I complete the journey, I’m back to my steadfast routine. Sometimes I cook. But mostly, I nurse a mug of espresso and consume lots of cigarettes and swirl ideas above my head. The dark kitchen room is a good way to transition from sleep to wakefulness. It has no light. Not a single window. And some icons covered in spider-webs stuck in a corner. It’s thoroughly dank. However, you never have to fear you’ll wake up blinded down here. It’s impossible.
Along with the diet of dank corners, you get to experience and taste dank thoughts. Who would’ve ever thought you’d end up doing this? I see one hand raised. Great. Thanks for the vote of confidence.
It’s no different than living in a cave – though I have never lived in one. The chief resemblance is the dampness, the darkness, the absence of life. So you finally understand your sole mission and what isn’t. It was not as you had imagined. There were no ballerinas there. There were no canvases filled with brilliant colors. However, music was the nearby thread to the world of Living things. Some of the music was dank. But most of it wasn’t.


A Woman In Line

A Woman In Line
To get an audience with the tax collectors in Athens, you have to get in line, as early as 5AM, to get a piece of paper with a number – your personal number – penciled on it. It’s the line for the hottest show in Athens, where citizens who provide amusement for those in Power are part of every act, – “Shades of The Greek Government”
“It’s a Thursday. And it’s February, so I didn’t have to get here at 5am – which is good, you know – but I was here before 7am, and it’ll be an hour before I get my ticket, and I can get outta here for a while.”
“Where exactly are you now?”
“Well, now, I’m gonna head back there and probably wait for another hour-and-a-half before I
actually see anybody. And then, maybe they can help me. But you never know.”
“Yeah, well, yesterday didn’t go so well. So, yeah, I’m still in line.”

The Ghost of LinkedIn

LinkedIn almost feels like Microsoft Forums. Have you ever tried wandering through the rooms of Microsoft, looking for an answer to your question? Well they are eerily empty. No signs of human habitation or plant life there.

You are alone in the universe.

But LinkedIn is even scarier, because you see faces and activity taking place, but never do you feel connected there – at least I don’t. People may be looking at you there, but you’d never know it. They may be listening to your thoughts, but never show their own. The seriousness of the site is oppressive. I have no doubt that I am far from my element there.

It’s all about Business.
And I am not.

Furthermore, the thing that scares me about that place is the total absence of humor. And humor is what makes me tick. The darker, the better.

But I suspect humor does creep through its doors. Subtle and unrecognizable. And when it does – that’s when you perceive the sober devotion to Business there. That’s their world. Connections. Practical people. Materialism – not that that’s not important. But not for an artist. Though survival is a matter many artists struggle with daily.

But in that way, LinkedIn is the opposite of Facebook, the domain of frivolity and superficiality and a great disregard for reality. I have often felt NASA could post the approach of a comet toward earth, and it’ll be glossed over – a video of cute cats playing is much less demanding than the impending doom of the planet, less taxing on the Brain. As such, I designated Facebook with the profound thought by Andy Warhol and made it my Facebook mantra …

“I am a deeply superficial person.”

I posted this regularly, to no avail, and not surprisingly. And then I deactivated my account. Bliss followed.

But back to LinkedIn …

Know how they have suggested contacts? Lists and lists of people. Well, this one kept cropping up – a lot like that DUI sign on the Beltway – and I was thinking, once again, What the fuck!

Now either someone outside of LinkedIn has a wicked sense of humor, or, I’m not sure what else … I didn’t bother to check the profile, but simply reacted to its presence there.

And once again, I saw the total absence of humor on LinkedIn.

And I thought …
What a pity.