Much of the fan mail I’ve received of late expresses concern for my mental wellbeing. The comments range from, “Are you okay?” to “Dude. I think you’ve finally lost your last marble.”
No such thing.
The truth is I’m crestfallen over the state of the Republic and disappointed in the amount of nonsense we seem willing to tolerate, to accept without question or even skepticism. But I’m not depressed or in some state of blind, ideological zealotry. I just don’t know why we no longer trust our senses.
Nevertheless, I’ve elected to give myself something of a psychic palate-cleanse, a sort of cranial sorbet, if you will.
One of my favorite things to do is to arrive at my desk in the morning, armed with nothing but a cup of coffee. I love to sit and start to write with no preconceived topic or direction. Following Ernest Hemingway’s advice — “Write the truest sentence that you know” — I’ll just start typing, letting my mind and my fingers go where they will.
On the day that yielded this piece, rather than starting to type, I began by going to artlist.io, to which I subscribe. I happened to find a piece of music called, “Belly Button Whistles”. When I see a title like that, I listen. And, so, I did.
As I listened, I was taken by the whimsy of the title, by the atmosphere of the piece, by its random suggestiveness, and by what I took to be its invitation to be equally whimsical and random. I wrote the first line that came to mind: “If I could be a sweet delight/I’d be a Tootsie Pop.” The rest took care of itself and ended up in the video that follows.
The Moral of the Story
Sometimes, when you’re preoccupied by everything, it’s best to think about nothing. The healthiest, most prudent thing you can do is shut the world out and let your mind wander. And the most therapeutic thing you can to is to let yourself wonder. That’s what I did.
If this video makes no sense to you, that’s okay. Sense, in fact, may be a distraction or a red herring, an undertaking unnecessary and quixotic. And it’s entirely possible the time we spend trying to make sense of things is wasted.
The longer I live, the more I’m convinced few if any things make any sense at all, at least to me.