Dear Bleaders,
How’s it hanging?
Such a weird thing to say to someone. Hey, Padre, how’s it hanging? Well, what do I know?
I’m old enough to be taken aback by the way “douche bag” is now common
parlance. Though it’s true I’ve
lived in France a few times (doing research in the archives) and there you
better get used to saying douche or you’re going to turn red every time you hear a shower.
I wrote a post on Monday because I couldn’t help it, about
suicide and the recent loss of an amazing poet, and it has gotten a good bit of response, here and on facebook. I’m moved by it all.
On facebook, a relative of Rachel’s wrote thanking me for the
piece. Guess if that made me cry. Hearing from people
about it is an emotional experience, both very sad and very dear. A lot of the people who responded here
are artists whose work I have admired and some who I’ve come to think of as
part of this bap band of basically bipolar bards – both of which circumstances
made hearing from you that much sweeter.
How can we shiny broken freaks possibly survive without each
other? Impossible. We have got to cultivate faith in
humanity, in art, in artists, and in the eaters of art. I have to focus on
noticing how not alone I am. If we
suffer together I think I can manage it. It almost sounds like fun. And it appears that we are suffering together. So okay.
love,
Jennifer
ps pic is at the Jewish Center Museum, in the lobby. i'm still working the poem response to genesis art. there is an event around it on Feb 3, I'll be there to read the piece and hear other people's work. if you come too, come up and say hi.