Bat Country

Ambition sucks.  That's what the Buddha says (or something akin).  And he is right.  The best men and women lack ambition.  They possess another element, something more serene.  So it is proclaimed.

I've not made a proclamation before.  That was rather fun.  My friend Q proclaims a lot.  Yes, he has more fun than I, I am certain.

Most people do.  Rich, poor, stately or homely.  But what do you learn from fun?

I'm tempted by syllogism, but I'll refrain.  I'll leave it at "ambition sucks."

"I don't understand you," a friend said to me.  "You whine about not having your work seen while you sneak around on an anonymous blog and won't show your prints to anyone."

"I don't care," I told him.

It's not true, of course.  I care too much.  It is simple, though.  I can't stand rejection.  I am cut deeply by the smallest slights.  The larger things devastate me.  A throw away invitation or a slight promise of something will possess me.  Things grow large in imagination, too large.  Then, when the invitation is forgotten, the promise unkept. . . .  trauma.

I know, I know, it is a bit like Williams' "The Glass Menagerie." Amanda and her wicked memories, Laura's forced exit from the make believe, the disappointment of The Gentleman Caller, Tom's abandonment. . . cloying and brutal at once.  But wrap all those characters up into one. . . .

"Enough of that talk," he said, "or I'll have to use the ether.  Get hold of yourself man!  This is Bat Country."