Disorder

Order. Everything in its place under the last dust.

Have you ever dusted? It is a constant chore. After a day it settles again. After a few days it turns into a coat. And after a little more time, it turns to grime.

Who has time to dust? It's a sincere question. But not a question I'm actually interested in. What I'm actually interested is disorder. Entropy. Things falling apart.

Do you know what Kintsugi is? It's the shattered tea cup that heals. A thing that breaks and then comes back together. Have you ever been broken and after restored? Traditionally the cracks become embossed in gold or some significant color. To celebrate the fissures and the broken parts.

I heard a saying that only broken people can save broken people. Do you feel broken? I do... sometimes. Cracked and fissured.

I don't want to get into it. But I love images and poetry and songs and films. And I love collaging murals from old magazines to conjoin disparate ideas. I love seeing where the rough edges connect.

Like a puzzle that wasn't mean to be.

Excuse me... you caught me in a melancholy state. Generally speaking I'm a very happy person. I smell flowers before checking out of the grocery store. I eat vegetables and fruits. I care about the ozone and recycling and radical listening. I care a lot.

And yet...

I used to be vegetarian. I worked at a vegan restaurant and learned excellent recipes. But started eating deli sandwiches again because they're cheap, and then when I ate out I ordered the ribs, or steak tips, or a good old reuben. And I continue to eat meat despite my beliefs because of... simple craving. And I try to make sense of how these two contradictory impulses connect. I try to feel out the rough edges.

I imagine what an orderly world is like. I'm assured we have one. But from my understanding it is orderly for some, concentrated and relegated, and nigh on hellish for others. A small fraction experience a controlled utopia, and the rest... are barred. And the criteria for access seems ultimately arbitrary.

Sometimes I see folks picking up litter off the road. And that inspires me for a day or two to pick up litter myself. And I clean the corner of the street, or my driveway, or around a bench in a park. And for a moment it looks very clean.

Very... orderly.

Then I come back a week or a month or a year later... and the dust has settled. I'm not sure how to approach all of this chaos. Whether to embrace it or disavow it. I wish I could clean up the world. But there’s something about that phrase that feels so violent. I don’t know what it actually means. And I'm rather lazy.