Friday, March 29, 2019

i put down the art of the wasted day. i'm sure there are things to glean in it but it wasn't my kind of writing. i'm very particular about how i waste my day. it started with montaigne, and maybe that's where it diverged from my way. montaigne's ok, but he was rich, and he could really get down into himself and waste the day any damn way he pleased. he didn't have to do anything but eat and breathe. and write i suppose, but just for his own pleasure and curiosity. i can't identify with he rich, but he's the kind i guess i would be, inheriting, not directly exploiting anybody, just putting the money to productive time wasting. but where there is money there are people who earned it who don't have time to waste and always have to get more, while the rich smile in big houses and leisurely waste the day. 
be that as it may, and it wasn't what i started out to say, i still like the notion of daydream, and the art of the wasted day. therein lies the art of life, not in the production of money, but in the bounty of daydreams. i'm glad i can write this way, like i eat and breathe, not for money.

so now i'm reading behind the mask, about the identity of japanese culture. 

the blackstone library is sending me memories of the future, by siri hustvedt, what you have heard is true, by carolyn forché, and a writer of our time, the life of john berger, by joshua sperling

time is precious, we have nothing but time. i'm searching for something, a way to think, to write about this wasted time.

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