Creative Control

Miscellaneous Mental Musings of an Emerging Artist

Accursed skull meat! End your incessant synapsing!

Rodin-the-ThinkerLast night, for whatever reasons, I was overcome by waves of Deep Thought that I still don’t feel I was ready to deal with.

In particular, I was moved to self-examination–which means my life is now worth living, according to Socrates, or Plato, or Aristotle, I can’t remember which. And I was moved to self-examination by those dual conduits of Western philosophy that everybody refers to as “MTV” and “VH1”.

VH1 was airing an hourlong report on the connection between rock and religion, focusing on the stigma of Christian rock, and discussing the conflicts and conversions of artists like Little Richard, Cat Stevens, and Bob Dylan.

I like to believe that my own spirituality is something very important to me, but I can’t remember the last time I felt connected to it. I’m not connected to organized religion–I’m reminded of Ben Kingsley’s line from “Sneakers,” describing organized crime: “Don’t kid yourself. It’s not that organized.’ But I’m not entirely sure what I am connected to. Universal energy? The God in All of Us? The dogma, but not its interpretation and implementation in modern society?

I started writing a play about a man who made a deal with a demon, slowly being consumed by the possibility that he will soon have to pay his due on it. I think I believe in divine beings of either stripe, but my views on them have always been more influenced by writers and other artists–like Neil Gaiman, for example.

I must believe in God, because I keep feeling an unexplained desire to talk with him or her or it, and ask several burning questions, most of which begin with “Why.” And followed, most likely, by “Why REALLY.” The fact that I cannot do this either within or without religion is frustrating.

On MTV, they were airing the Real World 10th Anniversary special. Once upon a time, I used to watch the show fairly regularly, I pretty much tuned out for good somewhere in the middle of Real World: Hawaii.

While I tend to consider the show a guilty pleasure, I realized just how insightful and fascinating it was, nonetheless, to see these people’s lives played out in their MTV fishbowl. I was, in spite of the messenger, affected by Pedro Zamora and Judd Winick. I liked the London cast a lot. Sarah, in Miami, I used to have the biggest crush on her.

People, in general, are just the rockinest things ever. Even the ones that are mean, and twisted, and hurtful, hell, I’m glad they exist even if I don’t care too much for them and their behaviors.

Sometimes I marvel at how lucky we are to live when we do, that we’re living based on the broken backs and suffering of people just fifty years ago. But now, I think even further, and I wonder what it was like before we even had things like language, or critical thinking, or emotional involvement. How lucky we are to live in a time when we can think about how lucky we are to live in it.

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This entry was posted on June 26, 2001 by in Mental Health, Television, Writing.
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