What We Actually Live

Yesterday I found myself completely alone on a rainy day in New York, without anything immediately pressing on me to get done. I decided to live out MY FANTASY ARTIST LIFE that I used to dream about when I wasn't doing much art work and was working full time. I remember coming to see Graham here oh so long ago, and walking the rainy streets and dreaming of possibly living a life where there was no office to go to and I could go to places like the Film Forum in the middle of the day or get a cup of coffee anywhere and live this high flying arty life I liked to call LIVING IN NEW YORK. (Do you ever notice how your fantasy art life never actually includes DOING any art work?)

So I decided to LIVE THE DREAM so to speak. I went out into the wet, dark streets and walked everywhere. Because of the climate, the city felt relatively empty. It was kind of spooky and comforting at the same time. I walked to the river and I combed the pretty Greenwich Village streets, discovering landmarks and thinking about what it would be like to actually LIVE in such an area. I noticed that my favorite coffee place, one of my favorite bookstores, and a bookstore I want to find open one day all were on the same street. Oh, to be on such a street!

Then I went to Film Forum on a weekday afternoon and saw the much buzzed about film I'm Not There, which is kind of, but not really about Bob Dylan. What a strange, indescribable film. Six people playing "Dylan." I think I liked it, but I'm not sure what to make of it. It's been getting a lot of great reviews, but after seeing it I am very surprised so many critics are embracing it. It's so creative, unusual, and perplexing--three things usually frowned upon by critics. In any case, it was art--and you can't always say that about a movie.

Afterwards I felt oddly sad. Matinees are so disorienting. You get used to the darkness and then suddenly you're out in the blaring world. I stumbled out into the neighborhood, and clutched my coat. I like that I can see a movie that features the exact neighborhood I was now walking towards. I walked for a long time afterwards, pushing by NYU students, thinking about how every person is actually made up of many people. I thought about myself three years ago, dreaming a version of who I am now. Who will I be in another 3 years? Sometimes I think the dream and the person are two entities that never really meet. The dream is what we create to live towards, but it isn't what we actually LIVE. We live something deeper and stranger and more perplexing. I think I like it, but I'm often not sure what to make of it.