It doesn't seem to matter how many times these thoughts pass through my mind.  The bottom line is always the same, and always has been.  That does not change.

The number of times I've contemplated a change?  Innumerable. 

Yesterday, I asked questionable questions.  And today, for a split second, art made me feel disgusted.  Truly!  And it was a very, very strange sensation... how momentary and so fleeting that disgust was, and so powerful!  Not toward a piece of art either, but Art: all of it.  And how quickly, instantaneously, really, it swung to the polar opposite.  I don't even remember what it was that made me feel so disgusted.  I know it had something to do with narcissism, and ego... but I don't really remember the full context of it.  It scared me how, in that flash of a moment, I would have, could have, thrown, thrust! all of my care for art away, with disdain and a mouthful of spit.  I was actually pissed off for a second.  I was looking at Cindy Sherman photographs during all of this, and then it was so sudden that a new feeling came over me, and I was in the world where art expresses us so deeply.  And for the next 45 minutes or so, I was in cloudy awe over how this woman captured humanness so well.  I believed her!  That's such a strange thing to say about a photograph.  How often do you look at a 2-dimensional portrait, and even consider whether you believe it?  And the question is not about trust... it's... I don't even know how to word it.  All I know is, I looked at those photographs and completely bought each one.  They were charming, hysterical, vulnerable, and honest.  Sad and real.  Aside from being meticulously well done.

But anyway, I don't know what had come over me.  It's the first time I had ever felt so strongly (or at all, for that matter,) against(?) art.  And really, literally, only for about one second, before I fell in love with it again.  It alarmed me.  What goblin was that?

Here we go, Day 207: https://ia700805.us.archive.org/30/items/Improv3812/20120308150427.mp3