I am wondering about the idea of artists getting better. To my ears R.E.M's first and second (Murmur and Reckoning) are their best albums.
Seems like this may be true of some poets.
How can we know we are NOT deceiving ourselves with thoughts of improving? Does life get better? Is better always a deception?
For every progress there's a slow slip back. The world a better place for our efforts?
Well, maybe we need the idea of progress. Deception. Hope. Maybe it's all matter.
I smell bubble gum. Orange flavored. Bubbalicious.
A few months after I landed in America I started eating Now and Laters and trying to breakdance. We ate Hamburger helper every night. But it was all for the promise of a better life.
For my parents that promise quickly turned into mere survival.
But when I think of my life it does seem to improve. I like where my head is now versus even four years ago. I hope to live in a hip co-op happy town by the sea with a dog and a stick and maybe two kids on my shoulders etc.
I suppose the point of progress is that it never ends but I have to look carefully at what drives the progress what drives the chariot.