“Day 8” I mark on this machine like a prison wall. I’m free, at least for now, of time, responsibility, of weight. How is it I still toil? These days, restful as they are, allow too much space for my mind to be my mind. Every 60 seconds is a possibility: a new idea, a potential germination, an “I could master this.” Every day I stare into the *everything bagel. A hole so vast and expansive, yet, it holds no answers. It’s anything. It’s everything.

After 8 days of brushing my teeth it seems I don’t remember the taste of bile anymore. What a horrible deal to strike: between rest and product—epiphany and discipline. I see that I am being taught the same lesson over and over again until I have the guts to stand up to myself and “work” on “art.” If works are only ever born of inspiration then what becomes of the prophet in the hours they do not see their visions? Does the prophet wait tables? Or does the prophet remain at the hearth awaiting the next vision with only the shred of proof that “this happened once.” Do prophets even have discipline? Is there unwitnessed proof dodging documentation? Would the said discipline of a prophet be in calm things like silence, waiting, meditation? Or are there active prophetic duties for the ones currently unburdened by divine inspiration? I do feel one thing that has grown in me standing at the foot of the bagel. As far from me as answers feel, I have become intimately close with asking good questions.

By the way, I am not a prophet. I think there is a highly mystical relationship between artists and the creations-to-be but not one that baseline merits any kind of religious authority. From what I have read in history I think prophets are pointers and I think artists are pointers too and I also think, sometimes, when asked to explain, or change, or even save what the artists or prophets are pointing to, the only thing that regularly makes sense is just to keep pointing.

Now…If I were a prophet…I’d maybe be a part of a temple or place of worship of some kind. And, I’d want that temple or place of worship to have loyal minstrels playing perfectly fitting music in it. Anyways this is a piece I composed for The Tabletop Tales, the setting being a religious temple in the woods filled to the brim with books. The piece is simple but I love it so much.

Preferred Bagel Orders:

1. Get the salt bagel

2. If they don’t have salt, get sesame

3. If hungry get a bacon (or sausage), egg, & cheese and ADD cream cheese.

   3a. It is imperative to keep the original cheese from the order set and not sub it out for cream cheese. There must be both.

4. If not as hungry get a bacon and cream cheese. It is the equivalent of an old fashioned donut to me—so simple. So damn good.

Index:

*For those unfamiliar with the reference to an everything bagel it’s from the movie “Everything, Everywhere, All at once.“ There are many unbelievable treasures in the movie. Please watch it. For me, the most cutting thread is the writing around a daughter consumed with feelings of nothing-matters-ness. Through her eyes emptiness actually feels like the overwhelming possibility that anything in the world could mean everything—and therefore, nothing matters. It’s the chaos of anxiety.