the better angels
The piano player for the doors said that it was the better angels of his unconscious that led him to that opening lick on ‘baby won’t you light my fire’. Pretty good stuff I think. If you want to do a lot of admirable things in life, then all you really have to do is make sure you respond to those better angels. The tough thing is that I’m always having these talks with them, and they’re telling me to stop playing video games and to go to bed at a decent hour so I can start the next day’s adventure early. I rarely start the next day’s adventure early. I wake up bleary eyed and stumble around wondering why I havn’t put a new light bulb in the lamp in my room. Tomorrow, I promise the better angels.
I read some kind of spiritual book of progress recently. The guy that wrote the book seemed like a real master of things. He was nice to people and had figured out how to write books and love his wife. He knew how to make time for his kids and be an inspiring professor at his college. He’s the kind of guy that’s going to cut the thanksgiving turkey at the head of a big table with smiling and contented faces all gazing fixedly at him. He’ll cut the turkey and then say that this day is about each person around the table. That each cut he makes is a guarantee of their fruitfulness. I’d probably cry if I was there if you want to know the truth.
But I’m not there. I’m stumbling around my room putting on the same pants that I’ve worn every day for the last 4 months and developing strategies for finding another pair that I would like enough to split time between these. The better angels tell me that I shouldn’t spend another $75 dollars on pants for a while. Screw the better angels I think, I’m headed to Gap.
