Work, work, work… with Rita Andreeva

Losing Focus

“I don’t know if that’s because I’m certifiably insane or there is another reason, but every time I have a few glasses of vino, this thought pops into my mind, that I have a higher purpose, a special destiny. That I’m very special,  and my destiny is huge, enormous, all encompassing, the mankind saving kind.  And I pause between about the 3rd and the 6th glass wondering where the fuck this thought comes from.
I try to slow down and chew down on that thought like on a juicy leaf and get no sense out of it still, but the juice is somehow absorbed into my blood and I start getting impressions, feelings of being timeless, being forever, and having something to accomplish somehow in the mean while. I grind down on that juicy and seductive thought, lusting for its essence, for information.
Time becomes relative, and I think back on the Einstein theory I tried to understand at school, I still don’t understand it. But I feel it may be indeed relative, and the way it all darkens outside the window and the voices of kids playing a block away seem closer and louder, and the air seems to smell fresher. Everything becomes way funner. Is it the alcohol? Shit, I drank like a fish for half a century, that’s not it.
Oh, my daughter says, “funner is not a word,” but here it is, I typed it, and it doesn’t give me the wavy misspell line, so I guess, my daughter is behind times now, was, when she said it was not a word, because it must have become a word in the mean while.
Some guy said to me once, “You can say anything, any stupid thing, and you make if feel like candy in your mouth.” Is it an important talent to say nothing in a way that makes one interested? Does the world need it? Don’t we have enough BS?
I try to talk about things that I think matter to the world, then I get depressed when no one cares. The important things like politics, religion, taxes. I try then to say those important things in seemingly unimportant context, it helps – if people can’t connect it right away to anything important they just have fun and enjoy what I’m saying. They don’t get all righteous on me then and start criticizing what I said. Not right off the bat. Because it takes them a while to realize I’m actually saying something important. Of course, once they do, they find everything wrong with it.
There is a way a story should flow, I feel it in my bones. It should pick you up and carry you along to where you want to know where it’s going, and when it drops you into place like a round peg into a square hole, you should feel no adjustment pain.
I wonder if it hurts the caterpillar when it is inside its cocoon changing shape. Does it feel pain? And if it does, does the butterfly remember the pain?
I feel, we humans are transforming daily like the butterflies, by smaller degrees, and we do feel pain every time. What I want to know – what do we emerge as? Is there an emergence, not to be confused with an emergency, mind you, but an emergence – a new step in a state of being? How many emergences (Hey, that’s not a word yet – the computer underlined it in red squiggly line. But how else do you say emergence in plural? Why doesn’t it exist? Does no one think one can successfully emerge more than once?) are there?”  – Rita

Photo by Carl Nelson

Advertisements

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s


%d bloggers like this: