Over the hill. Pulled the plug but not yet circling the drain. Old broad. Over half a life gone.
No, I’m not old, nor do I feel old, but I ain’t young, either.
When I was young, I wanted everything. I wanted California and mountains and oceans and Hollywood and a cabin in the woods and nature and cities and people and space and I wanted to sing and dance and act and write and draw and paint and ride dirt bikes and horses and swim and sled and oh if only I could fly, wouldn’t it be lovely to fly?
Now, I am a ma’am with a Ph.D. and I don’t know what I want, don’t even know how to think about what I want. I was so open, then, to everything; how could I not want it?
And now? Ha: you know the answer.
But I still wonder.
“Dancing” from One! Hundred! Demons! By Lynda Barry
“Dancing” from One! Hundred! Demons! By Lynda Barry p. 2
Do you know Lynda J. Barry?
I started reading Ernie Pook’s Comeek in The Isthmus, the Madison alt-weekly, when I was in college. Marlys and Maybonne and Freddie and everyone in that weird little world made me laugh and wonder and sometimes, sometimes, they pierced me clean through.
I found Marlys Magazine again online, then it got stripped way bare, and now it’s back, in full splendor.
Lynda J. Barry draws what she wants, writes what she wants, lives how she wants.
I don’t know if she knows what she wants, but it doesn’t seem to matter.
AbsurdBeats 