We didn’t really have it that hard is the truth. Some times were hard, sure. But some people have it way harder. Where’s their recognition? If you start almost at the top and then make the small leap at the top, how far did you really go? I have a hunch that the art we know about isn’t the best there ever was. The best there ever was probably wasn’t even translated into the common arts forms that we have learned to call “art.” It was probably something like a bum who whistled a tune in the middle of the night, lying all alone on his cardboard with nobody there to hear. But maybe even that is too cheap and cliché. Maybe it was just a single mom making enough at her night shift to put breakfast on the table for her son the next morning. Still, too obvious and trite. My view is still too narrow. Too human. Too here and now. We make art that we understand. Which makes sense, I suppose. I don’t know. Lying here in bed getting sober. My throat still burns from the cigar. It’s dark out and a car drives by. 2:45 a.m. I slept all day today, before we went over to John’s and had dinner and started drinking. We talked and we talked, but I don’t think we really said it. Maybe someone has already said it to me before and I just couldn’t quite understand. Even if someone said it to me once, I’d want them to say it again. See, I’m selfish like that. I have it too easy. I’m a glutton for more of all the goodness I’ve already gotten. In some rare moments, when I can keep from over complicating it, I can see straight through to the beating heart of the cosmos. I saw it in the white ceiling when I woke up from my nap earlier today. I thought to myself, damn, just the fact that I can see that white ceiling, just that is more than I can truly appreciate, when I muster all the attention I can give it. And I don’t know why, but that’s when I think of dying. I think, I will die and I won’t be able to look at a white ceiling like this again, and I want to cry. Sometimes I do cry. Most of the time I can only cry when I think about other people dying. Sometimes I get more sad than other times. Sometimes I’m not sad at all. I’m just very indifferent and I don’t really care what happens. Anyway, I think I’ll go to sleep now.