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Keeping Things Free
Evanston library won't ban kids' book:
"A children's book depicting a masked burglar pointing a gun at a woman will remain in Evanston Public Library despite complaints that the image is too violent for young readers.
'A good library collection should have something to offend everyone,' said Jan Bojda, head of children's services at the library. 'If they don't, they are not doing their job.'"
"Moore's 'Fahrenheit 9/11' has Hollywood buzzing"
Google News: "Moore's 'Fahrenheit 9/11' has Hollywood buzzing"
The Biggest Moment Of My Seconds
The Biggest Moment Of My Seconds.
A big concern for most artists on anti-depressants is that the cure for one problem may be the cause of another, namely the loss of that small bit of unknown where the art comes from, where our voice comes from. I haven't researched. I don't know if there is actual reason to fear this, or if it's more of an artistic urban legend, told by artists to scare their children into behaving. So, it goes without saying that when I first told it was time for Mike to be on Paxil, I was concerned and scared. The fear was twofold. I WAS scared I would lose my art once my brain became balanced. But, I was also concerned that my sex drive would disappear completely, not that I use it.
It was then I realized that my art has never come from my depression. My most popular stuff came before my problems and my void of life. Four years ago I was at my happiest, and I was most productive in my field. It was only after life started getting me down did my work slowly dwindle and fade and generally just go back to where I was borrowing it.
My words seem to be back though. My words are forming. Syllables are growing, and I feel that my thoughts seem to be more coherent and readable. Of course, now that I can do this again, I don't. I don't have time to write in journals as much as I like, even this journal suffers from the fact that I enjoy getting work done, and so my art suffers.
But I've begun to realize that I mistake exhaustion for depression now. I'm tired, so therefore I must be depressed. But it turns out, I'm just tired. Life has thrown a lot of shit at me, for lack of a better phrase, and I'm tired. More than I'd like. I have a hard time realizing that I'm not the person I was even three years ago. And that's part of growing up. I still have dreams and aspirations of fame and leisure, but I'm beginning to realize that those goals must be slowed down to make sure my health doesn't suffer.
It's something that I've been thinking about. I miss the old days, constantly having someone to see, and something to do. Friends abounded, and now they're farther away. I miss that part of my life. But they're still there. I may have more time to reflect, but just because I'm not filling that time with hanging out doesn't mean I'm less of a person. It's given me more time to become a better person.
A stronger person.
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