I did not write yesterdays blog. Yes, it came through my fingers but it was out of my control. You know how Bob Dylan always says that his great songs were not really written by him, they sort of came "through" him? Well, that is what happened to me. Of course, what came through me was not, "She's wears an Egyptian ring, sparkles before she speaks...". No. What came through me was stuff about necks and turkey burgers. Not the most profound of subjects. So I sat down today and I tried to conjure up the feeling that passed through me yesterday, and it wasn't there. Because maybe, I was thinking, maybe some amazing writing could come through me. Not just mundane thoughts like shoes and bodies and what to have for dinner. But maybe some people are here just to write about the mundane because truly, how many people are going to come up with Plato's Republic or the answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind? And yet, the fact that the answer may be blowing in the wind is really quite simple, isn't it? Of course! It's in the wind. Anyone could have thought of that but only one person wrote it down. It's not that complicated and that's what makes it so profound. But for most people, the answer to the question, "What should we have for dinner?" is much more complicated and yet the person who comes up with the answer is not often given the credit that person is due.
Does that make any sense?
Okay, here is what I'm stuck on today. I am reading the obits of Tom Snyder and Ingmar Bergman and I am feeling like a tiny insignificant spit ball. What lives. What accomplishments. Now I know it's ridiculous in any way to think...Ingmar...Trish...Trish...Ingmar. Although always, when I saw his movies I had to wonder if I was part Swedish. Because first of all I really liked the darkness and drabness of Sweden. I could live there. Second, I was blond. (Still am, with help.) Third, those movies made me happy which was a very strange reaction because most people who saw them wanted to kill themselves. I think I always thought, oh good, someones life is actually worse than mine. (Some of you know I did not have a rosy childhood, even though I looked rosy. That mother thing. It's a very long story.) If I think about it, my biggest accomplishment may actually be that I learned how to cook something decent. But, come on, it's not Persona or interviewing the Dalai Lama. Will my last thought as I leave this planet be, "Wow, I figured out meatloaf." Maybe Ingmar's last thought was, "Wow, I figured out lutefisk." Stranger things have happened.
Wait. I think something is coming through me...Some thoughts...The voice is saying...
Shut the fuck up already!
No, that was just me talking to myself.
Oh well, on to another mundane thought that has been bothering me...I have changed my mind about the Cubs. (I can do that! There are no rules here.) I said I wanted to live until the Cubs won the World Series. And they are still in second place in their division. Sooooo, I am changing my wish to the following...I want to live until the Cubs win the World Series...
In a row.
Okay, that'll get me to about one hundred and twenty. At least. I feel much safer now.
The answer is blowing in the wind. Anyone could have written that, right? What a lucky Zimmerman he was. All right, he has a little talent.....................