Soul

Listening to some music. House itself is quiet since I have my headphones on. I’m sure the chair I’m dancing in is making some squeaking noises and I may or may not be singing along at various points where I know the lyrics. Funky. Not the music. Well, the music too. But I’m feeling funky. Been so lost these last few days. Weeks. Years. I lost it. lost touch with whatever it is that causes a writer to write. Well besides the draw of money or fame, and not that I wouldn’t enjoy both of those immensely, but writing solely for either of those reasons or even both of them is great and contributes to the broader artistic spectrum and blah, blah, blah but it lacks soul.

Come on, I’m not being a snob here but you can tell the difference. The difference between “According to Jim” and “Modern Family.” I should probably talk about something more literary but I’m not a snob about television at all and am in fact addicted to this medium so I will as I have always done on this blog and elsewhere continue to talk about it frequently. But back to my point, and I hope you are following this because I am sure having a tough time keeping up, the difference between the two shows isn’t in the humor or acting (okay, maybe a little), but in the poignancy, in the way each episode makes you think and reflect and feel.

Watch Belushi bluster about and be a cartoonish version of the stereotypical football watching suburban dad and it’s funny because you’ve seen that guy and maybe hung out with that guy and probably paid that guy ten bucks to jump off of something when you were all drinking once, but it doesn’t make you think about too much else. Watch the episode of Modern Family where Mitchell surprises Cameron with his participation in a flash mob, after they’ve spent the entire episode bickering about how Mitchell isn’t nearly spontaneous enough and needs to just let go more often.

You laugh when Cameron tries to dance along on the side, feeling self-conscious, maybe a little dejected. You laugh because you know that is his character, maybe a little stereotypical (but played with so much more depth), and how much he loves to cut loose. Instead he is relegated to the sidelines. And it makes you think about times when you realize someone’s just done something great for you, given so much of themselves to you, and you somehow wish it was more, or different, or from someone else entirely.

Poignancy.

Does it make you think? And not think about unimportant shit, but does it make you motherfucking think? Do you understand yourself a little bit better because it made you think? Because it made you feel. Because it made you remember that we are all only human and we are all to be pitied and laughed at just as much as we are to be rejoiced and reviled.

That's the difference between art with soul and art without soul. And since I have a soul, I have no choice but to be an artist with soul. It will be my downfall either way.