Motivation

Slowness & Failure, 1979

Tag, I guess I'm it. Does that mean I have to JUMP into action and quickly write something brilliant about being slow & failing? Staring at this blank page ..... ahh, just waiting for words to come - breath in, breath out, ............... I feel myself slowing down, easing in to the nothing, where the everything comes from. Oh, didn't you see the Never Ending Story?....sometimes it's called the pregnant void -- I love that image. Anyhow. I'll stop. STOP. STOP - waxing philosophical, and just tell the story. It's 19.. I don't recall the year. I'm living in Montreal, on Greene Avenue above a hardware store, in a flat that stretches the entire length of the building. I drink 4 cups of coffee before 11am every morning, smoke a few regular cigarettes and a bowl. I study philosophy at Concordia and really really want to understand what the fuck we're all doing here, and what the point of everything is. Pretty ambitious. On the side I run a typing, proofing and editing "business" with my friend Trisha. We have 2 dogs, 3 cats and barely make enough to pay the rent. We define rushing. We rush to run the dogs. We rush to school. Rush to work. We talk fast. Eat fast. We totally miss the moment, and the point. I really can't figure out why I'm not happy. Not fulfilled. Not connected. My head hurts, I'm thinking so much. What happened to the smell of a rose? I go to philosophy parties and we talk about Husserlian phenomenology and how subjective experience is where it's at in the search for meaning in life. I want to scream NOW! "What's your favorite food?" I ask one of my fellow students. He looks puzzled at my question. I go home disappointed. I started practicing cleaning. I know. Sounds weird. I mean just cleaning. Like, on my hands and knees cleaning the kitchen floor, noticing that I'm thinking the toilet needs cleaning too. Not present yet. Then I'm cleaning the toilet, noticing that I'm thinking I still have to make the bed and tidy up my clothes. Not present yet. I keep doing this. Don't ask me why. Cheap therapy. I'm starting to feel better. I feel the warm water on my hands as I put the cloth in the bucket. The feeling of myself on all fours, like my dogs. The weight of my body distributed equally. I'm just cleaning. Smelling the clean scent, coming off the kitchen floor.