About a week ago, when my beloved was brushing his teeth, my eyes found their way to a note he had written to himself, left lying out on the table. It read:
“Today I choose to live in Easy World, where everything is easy.”
Like you’re probably doing now, I wondered if Tyler was okay. I didn’t address it—we should all be allowed a degree of autonomy when writing notes to ourselves, even if these notes are left out face-up for anyone to see. Like, for instance, I don’t want to have house guests acknowledge the post-its on my bathroom mirror. Mind your business.
And so, when Easy World resurfaced, it was because Tyler brought it up with a tepid excitement; he could not have anticipated how much I would be picking up what he was about to put down. Are you ready to hear about Easy World? Well, Easy World is an alternate reality where…you guessed it, everything is easy.
And that’s it! Actually, I think there’s a lot more to it. There might be a book? There’s definitely a website. But that’s been all there is to it for me. Some real-world Easy World examples:
Is your morning alarm telling you it’s time to wrench yourself from your morning dream? Your first thought might be that getting out of bed is, in this moment, an insurmountable ask. But wait! You’re waking up in Easy World, where getting out of bed is easy 😎
Are you stuck on finishing the lyrics to a new song? No, you’re not stuck, because actually, today you’re in Easy World, where writing lyrics is easy 😎😎
A studio date got mixed up? The stems you received were exported wrong (again)? There’s an explosion of broken glass all over the kitchen? There’s $[REDACTED] in your checking account? A drunk and rude diva is blocking everyone’s pathway?
It’s…really no problem 😎😎😎 Because remember that you’re in Easy World, where cleaning up glass is easy. Money will come. You can re-record the stems. The drunk and rude diva will die one day 😁
So anyways, that’s where I’ve been recently. Not quite full time, but visiting. See you there, maybe.
[Blog mode: engaged]
I’ve been unintentionally abstaining from social media, but have been going on little benders than IRL. Like this past weekend ~
Friday night, Mr. Kleinbaum and I caught a punk show inside a 20-cap dumpling spot downtown. Couldn’t tell you the name of the band, but we stood on the counter in the VIP room (the kitchen) for the best view, and ruminated on how many health code violations were taking place.
Freaking Val was in town, and the following night we sat drinking in the bar with a little crew, long past close with the gates down. One of those nights when someone’s smoking a cigarette inside. I should grow up I guess, but the occasional indoor bar cig still feels cool to me.
We drunkenly stumbled onto the topic of legacies. This got me thinking how, with rare exception, a person will end up being summed down to two or three sentences after a whole life has been lived. Two or three sentences could be generous, even. For instance, I can tell you that my grandfather was Czech and that he once owned a farm in Texas, but later lost it. I’m his direct descendant, only two generations down, and that’s all I have on him. Of course, we’re all aware that everyone we know will be dead one day. It was just funny to think about how quickly the dead lose their relevancy to the living, and that one day everyone you know will be essentially forgotten. Anyways!
Dick Texas showing off Dick Texas
In bed I dreamed I was stuck at work and feeling peckish. A coworker slipped two one-dollar bills out of the till to munch on. Following her lead, I slipped out two more bills for myself to munch on. Trying to eat the dollars was difficult and unpleasant, and I couldn’t help but think about how dirty they must be. I was also frustrated by my amateurism—I’d slipped out a five and a one, instead of two ones. We’d each taken the same amount of bills to snack on, but my deficit was three times higher.
Sunday was Upper East Side diner eggs and OJ. Walk up through Central Park holding hands, smiling at the cherry blossoms. The dark rooms of the Museum of the City of New York. Relearning that Brooklyn used to be Breuckelen, etc.
Dead tired on my way back home, but couldn’t turn down Heaven calling me up with an extra ticket to see Claire Rousay and More Eaze at Roulette. The sounds were soothing, and the performance was thankfully seated. After the lights came on, I met someone who gave me a show punch card. Not much of the future can be promised, but it’s sure nice to know I have a gifted well whiskey coming my way.
