Sunday, October 24, 2010

Day 225: Focus Pocus

Sometimes I think I'm crazy. 
Other times I'm sure everyone else is. 

I blame focus
Not the bubbly Ford vehicle. Not the Verb. Not photographic visual clarity. But that thing people tell me I should have, which they have already proudly captured. 


Must be nice. Choose a focus and devote forevermore.  No need to reevaluate. It's arms gentle but mighty, a reassuring hug of absolution.  No need to question. You are your focus. You know your focus. You know you.  


But you don't. You don't know yourself until you acknowledge your fickle soul and its perfect absence of focus. 


-Says the crazy girl longing to stroke focus' fur with her anxious, perspiring palms. 


Still, I tip-toe to the field. Longing to focus. Longing to install a safety valve. But I'm always torn away. I feel a poser to claim myself an artist, a writer, a jolly and dormant consumer of others' arts, and especially an academic--for none of these are my focus, me. And what is left? Nothing. 


And so I both pity and covet you with the safety valve. You know your course; you know what you want. 


"Sure Thing"

One thing I'm sure of is: happy is following a wild hedgehog in the mid-morning sun.
(video of this experience to come, following the required technical patch up.)

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