Week Eight:  Air Guitar response

Even in the worst times of my life, there were moments of simple clarity.  Amidst all the sex, fighting, and coked out blues there were times not unlike the those the author Dave Hickey unveils to us, the wounds that shouted continuously in my ears of the pain that was caused.  Heavy from the memories of the past, they tightened around my heart, as I dove deeper into my own personal sanctuary of drugs, alcohol, and sex.  After dancing with my own personal demons, the clouds would disappear momentarily and I would see just how simple things could have gone, had I made a different decision.  Rare and special are these moments if they visit at all, depending on ones proclivity for the naked truth.

The moment came and I did not have to buy a vowel to understand that I was giving myself my last chance to reconnect on different levels that until the time, I had feared to recognize.  Soused and wasted, I lay there in the still warm bed, startled by the immature nakedness of my soul.  Like a full-length mirror, I too like the author, in a moment saw myself.  Amidst the cocaine, sex oil and other signifiers of my pain, I was spiritually naked.  I did not like what I saw.  Defensive and alone, down deep amongst the memories, was a child I remembered.  He was still there.  We talk often now.  I listen to him, a lot.  We take long walks and the world opens up new nuances for me to ponder, the play of light, sifting through the curtains, as it dances upon the walls, the music the earth makes as it whistles through the trees allowing them to dance.  Sitting at the breakfast nook sipping some fair trade Joe, watching Mike n’ Ike (the squirrels) and remembering the importance of simplicity, and the interconnectedness of all things.

If art and money never touch, does this also translate to the subtle negotiation of grant writing?

Allan Hill