Ain't NOTHING easy about Sunday morning...

Wednesday, February 05, 2003

war or not? I was on photo class when old boy was talking about VX weapons
Just give me a long brew of green tea—iced, squirted, and slightly sweatened.
I'll be good.
On my way back from copping the discounted art mus. tixkets, there was much activity in the
SAC...there was a memorial for the departed star travelers, and a blurb about Cori, the girl shot last week.
On the way to the sub, there was a fire on 16th st. I knew I had to get footage of it, but again, it didn't feel right.
Something was burning. I hope someone wasn't burning.
I have to bite the bullet. I keep passing up significant slices of raw human experiences.
Each time, I have the wherewithall to capture it, either on film or video....
but each time it doesn't feel right.
I can't take a picture of a homeless guy.
Say word.
That's theft. That's what we should be arguing about, not sampling other people's work.
Like the luxuries of poetry and cinema.
Into the fire.
They are communication tools to be gripped and wielded, not therapists and playgrounds.
Art is there. Under truth, and in life.
Art is— sorry, there's a flag at halfmast outside my window, does that mean we are at war?—back to art.
Art is us. It's multiplayer.
Freak it. Art doesn't have time to do what I'm doing.
Grow up and touch somebody. I've got videos to cut.

When I say "I love you", I do. But i'm afraid you don't know the love I mean.
When I say "peace" I mean it. The calm breath, stress free, un-pressed chest, peace. Because there will always be war.
When there's no longer war, and you're still here to're in trouble.



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