Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Dear David, (part ii)

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DB:
Sorry, kitten--Okla called and we were figuring out some printing specs for this stupid book we said we'd design for someone, and then there was some financial talk, discussions of possible perjury, etc.

I knew that already. It's okay. There are three billtion trillion important things hovering in your mind right now, I'm sure. Listening to me talk about prostitutes will be more fun when we're fifty anyway.

billtion = the new: Creedence.

DB: When I brought up the butt-sniffing, our art consultant was like, "What else do dogs do?" I was like, when's a jackal and a whale gonna be hanging out? Shamu would surely be offended.

I think New York's making me feel crazy. I lived on the LES, explored most parts of Brooklyn, cat sat while earning a salary on the Upper East Side, a fling with a banker in Chelsea looking after an autistic man, yoga every Monday in the East Village, love affairs with artists, writers, a guru of unconditional joy; these parties, those parties, avoiding awkward gazes with books, walking, walking, walking, poetry readings, concerts in the park, museums, street food, fine dining, taxis--looking under all these rocks, this place is getting smaller by the minute, and the more reclusive I get for the sake of spring cleaning in quarantine, the more I realize I could do a lot of my favorite activities in any small place, as long as there's a healthy internet connection and enough love to keep my heart from drying up and dying.

It's definitely sniffing that whale's butt. I can make art for you.

DB: The suburbs are the new Williamsburg. A house like three doors down from me just got converted into a warehouse.

A key thing to understand for surviving in New York is one word: proxemics--meaning personal space. This is what decides tourists from the locals--the way one swings one's arms in relation to someone's salad outside a diner on a narrow sidewalk, compacting your breath so not to brush a whisp of the person's hair two inches in front of you on the train for the 8:30 rush.

It's about something else too, but this can apply to a lot of other places and situations, but I think I've found the meaning of life in flourishing as self-aware individual making conscious decisions regarding consequences in time-management; it's about pacing.

I feel like I have a lot on my mind.

I might be like three years late in coming here.

DB: You sort of just blew my mind--I'll get you next time.

The consequences of time absolutely rule my life. And mostly I've come to live in fear of these consequences, and the ensuing depression makes pacing more difficult to manage, which reinforces said fear and said depression until it's now time to make some sort of radical career shift. I can't say enough how sincere and urgent this change is. And yet I have no idea how to begin.

I don't even remember bringing up law school, but it's a fact, jack: I *am* a Raymond Carver protagonist. With a few secondary characters from Denis Johnson thrown in--Johnson's characters are so much more honest about their anxiety and desperation, which we appreciate.

I heard wind turbine maintenance guys make six figures easy, though, so there might be a way out yet. Or if someone buys my film script--those guys go for 35K just to option.

2 comments:

steve d said...

"I think I've found the meaning of life in flourishing as self-aware individual making conscious decisions regarding consequences in time-management"

"I might be like three years late in coming here"

the lost time blues are the ones i sing to myself on solitary walks holding back the fear of what's behind the door, semi-frantic denial and pacing; that i just may be too damn late.

looking under rocks.

i take it these nicknames are off limits: sabs, sabra tooth, sabrosa, emboy-o, embury-onic

there has been a restorative calm that comes when i remind myself after a frenzy of activity and socializing, that everything i really need is in the space of my apartment - books i still need to read, various projects in a state of disrepair/completion, letters to reread, food to cook, tea to sip, a recliner with a gorgeous view, clouds to watch roll by...the list goes on and on...until i get restless, bored and discontent.

balance? more tree poses?

i like this 'conversational' style you've adopted for this piece.

Sabra Embury said...

Thanks Steve. Your input is always uber valuable.

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