Perfect Day
For a while now, art hasn't meant a lot to me. Think it has something to do with the Pandemic and Trump and post-Trump and social-media and my age and just a total new feeling inside my heart and head that art, whether it is capitalized or not, isn't really worth it. Doing or seeing. Plus a couple of my best friends have passed away. So there's that. But still something about this era of polarization and dialog flaming into monolog and all the things -- something has evaporated culturally. Art and life have disconnected in a lot of ways, and when they do connect it often feels manneristic and self-serving and just plain, well, worthless. All of the above sounds particularly melodramatic I know, but I don't want melodrama. I don't really feel like I'm missing anything. I'm perfectly fine. But I do just want to say: art has sort of become an old acquaintance that I once had a deep crush on, but now when I come across it I kind of want to hide from