I just picked up Patti Smith's "Just Kids", which I was given for Christmas.
I'm about to go to a party, or in an hour or so. I don't feel like being online, really. Flipping through channels I found All That Jazz, which is great. I didn't watch all of it, though, turning it off to read. I did do a little online research to figure out what happened to Leland Palmer. I wonder if David Lynch wondered that, too, when he wrote Twin Peaks. She moved to Israel, and now perhaps San Francisco, seemingly on a Jewish journey. Fascinating.
Something in Smith's writing made me realize how I always turn back to books. I can always enter a book. I always feel it welcome, like stepping into a circus tent and feeling the sudden warmth and smells that are enclosed behind such a flimsy barrier. It's enveloping. I keep returning to books. And to art.
I love the theater, and would love to make my living doing it. I enjoy TV, and wouldn't mind making that, too. But reading books and looking at art seem to be the two activities I love in that place where there is silence and tranquility. Perhaps it's relaxing. Not that I don't love theater and movies deeply, passionately, but the pleasure of reading and art never fails to fill me up. Inspire me.
It's New Year's Eve. I wish for you this year that you find what inspires you, what nourishes you, and what pleases you. I wish you are sated and blessed on all accounts.
Me, I'm going to do some more reading.