A rare experience of a moment at daybreak, when something in nature seems to reveal all consciousness, cannot be explained at noon. Yet it is part of the day's unity.
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Much of this week has been spent living in my head—spending the better part of the week cavorting with a new laptop, nursing my sick son, formulating few words, but thinking, thinking quite a bit I might add, about all my little daily delusions (triggered, in part, by seeing Laurie Anderson's brilliant and disturbing Delusion in Providence last weekend) like, per se, a new piece of technology improving my life—offering me not only the luxury of computing at greater speed, but also, peace and happiness. No?
I had another thought about my delusions. And then I lost it. I assumed: if I write and write and write, dammit, I will find it. But I haven't.
In its absence, I've come up with a new mantra for decision making and weeding—as in purging unnecessary anything from home and heart: How will this enhance my life?
An old, faded blouse that I no longer wear but can't part with because it's a designer pluck from Filene's Basement. How will this enhance my life?
Kid 1 asks if I'll help with a project. How will this enhance my life?
Kid 2 asks if I can drive him to a friend's house. How will this enhance my life?
Kid 1 asks if I would make some cookies for the bake sale. How will this enhance my life?
Ah! You see how deluded I am? I think my mantra will actually enhance my life. I think my mantra is something that can be realistically applied to everyday situations like it's the final word. Perhaps what I need to do is consider substitutes for the word enhance—like change, or stress, or screw-up or prolong or abbreviate—and then deal with the answer, wherever it falls. But of course, this means that I manipulate the answer by sculpting the question in furtherance of my fantasy.
Today I am deluded. Yesterday I was too. And tomorrow, I shall be again.
I wonder, if I spend enough time drooling over this laptop, with no thought other than my sudden awareness of being overly deluded, will I write something shrewd and comprehensible? (Oh yes! and my children will sit straight in their chairs and behave like perfect little adults in restaurants, and my car will run endlessly without an oil change, and the real estate market will bounce back soon, and the ceramic pots on the deck will not crack if left out all winter long—which began, prematurely, overnight.)
It's like I've been humming a thin, discordant tune... its tinny truth aches. And more, it comforts.
Laurie Anderson is an American musician, artist, composer, poet, photographer and filmmaker. And something you may not know about her: she's NASA's first (and likely last) artist-in-residence, and is married to Lou Reed. Her work is at once provocative, humorous, jarring, thoughtful, creepy, intelligent and inspiring. Lately, she's been peeling away the layers of our collective misconceptions and scraping fatuous seeds from its core.
From her most recent album, Homeland:
And from her Big Science album:
You can read more about Anderson's multi-media show Delusion, here. And here, a short video about the show.