This is a period of similehead. I always have quite a bit of that but it’s really all-consuming lately.
The thing is, you never know where you’ll find juicy happy goodness. The other day I got on the bus not expecting anything other than to get to the place I was going to. Instead I looked at the dirty floor and found a match that was a tiny pink blossoming bud. Instead I looked at the back of the head of the man sitting in front of me and found the stars of Vincent’s Starry Night growing in the perfect whorl of hair at the nape of his neck.
I can’t really say why making connections like that cuts so deep for me, why I value it so greatly and crave it so hotly or why finding them fills me so full of shiver and gratitude. It’s something about making sense of the world, I guess, some powerful yearning for a fitting-together, a way of writing a narrative of the world, of imposing structure. The world needs to have structure imposed on it, I find, because life gets lifey and shit happens and it’s a bad old world and full of badness (but oh, so wonderful too).
La vie est belle. There’s my battle-cry, right there.