I am finding great hope in the fact that yesterday is getting better. I mean all of them--the past. We need not hope for a better tomorrow. Give in. The past will correct the future. Wait. It (the future past) will be a better day.
That is today's life lesson. The things I mope and wail about. . . they look different in time. Maybe not a day, but in a lot of days. Eventually you can see how people evolved the idea that "you'll be fine." Or that "things will work out." They do in some future past tense. Or rather, some past future tense. It is perfect.
Last night I watched the season two final episode of "Orange Is the New Black." The last twenty seconds are wonderful. I have tried to find a video of just that scene to post here, but it seems to be non-extant. In that scene, past and future merge. It is beautiful. It is the Hopi concept of time. It is what we probably all experience to some degree in the end, or want to. It may be worth watching the entire series for that scene. It is powerful.
Even evil bitches (and bastards) have that certain je ne sais quoi.
The Metropolitan Museum of Art has a new Modernism exhibit that I want to see. I wish Q still lived in Manhattan. I would go up for the weekend to visit. He and I could argue over the merits of the curator's choices and compare artists and argue our new perspectives which have certainly "evolved." They've put Hopper and Balthus on the same wall. It should be my wall, I think. But I I love Hartley, too. The American Moderns are truly wonderful. We would retire to the bar that overlooks the back lawn that leads to the park and have drinks as we always do when at the Met. There is nothing quite like it.
But he is no longer there and I will not be going. Rather, I must prepare for the wrecking crew who will be here soon and hurry off to the factory. But all before me lay. . . .
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