I’m learning how one becomes a nun, and I can see the appeal of it.  At the Dominican Sisterhood in Elmira, they can pickles and crochet, they write and paint and they spend much of their time in “contemplation.”  How dreamy.

I love to tie knots.  I love to tie up girls, that’s the truth.  I love my job with its moments of slumber-party giggle and dance and of course it isn’t god that appeals to me, it’s devotion.  I’m like everyone else: I want to turn the sound off.  I want to be alone with things that don’t pay.

Last week, Sister Spit kicked off their 2012 tour at the SF Library, who I am devoted to.  I want to be a nun of the library.  Erin Markey and I ate fried pickles in Union Square where everything is noise and I was jealous of her cross-country devotional.  Being an artist might mean not being swayed by lace underpants and five-dollar chocolate bars and new dresses.  It might be time to look away from the catalog, the catalogs, the cataloging of every sentence and minute into value-algorithm and ambition-schedule. Give me a daffodil, give me a lemon.  It’s all grocery store, sofa sale, a joke about thread count. It’s all nail polish, button push, rain boot, gold bikini, tell a story.  This week cloister, next week Canada.  Time’s up.

 

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