I guess everyone has fond and perhaps formative memories that shape the prism behind these eyes. One such memory for me is George Orwell,
balloon-popper extraordinaire, a writer whose "Homage to Catalonia" really rocked my boat with its fire and decency and indecency. More than most writers, Orwell was a put-up-or-shut-up kind of guy ... actually DOING what others could only write about. When I grew up, I wanted to be like that.
Set the goal, whatever its nature, and then ... well, when I grow up, I want to be like that.
And what is the upshot of such goal-setting and efforts to attain? Assuming there is a serious effort, my guess is that you can never attain the goal and that finding that out is crucial. There is no "like that" to be like.
Pop singer Michael Jackson had a lot of plastic surgery, I understand, in an attempt to become his female idol ... was it Diana Ross? -- I'm not up with these things. He ended up looking like some freaky alien and yet ... the man could dance the pants off the pope, truly beautiful moves ... and completely Michael Jackson. A weird, creepy guy who danced like an angel.
There was no "like that" for Michael Jackson any more than there is a "like that" for anyone else. There are dreams and efforts and ... everyone dances like an angel despite all the plastic surgery they insist on having.
Everyone dances like an angel only of course there is no "like."
There are only angels.
There is only dancing.
Post a Comment