UNCONVENTIONAL THINKING BLOG

I wasn’t a major fan of Amy Winehouse but I appreciated the fact that she was one of the rare ones: wild, twisted, raw talent that broke all of the rules, saw the boundaries and dove over them and lived a grand wreck of a brief life that was tragic and triumphant.

So here we are, men and women, inexorably linked to one another, fascinated by the differences that make us polar opposites and that leave us struggling to decode the mysteries of our genders.

“Why does he do the things he does?”

“Why doesn’t she do the things she knows I want her to do?”

“Why do we love each other? Will it last? Does he love me? Do we both define love by the same standard?” Am I being played for a fool? Am I playing her?”

I’m laying on a chaise, broiling in the July sun, listening to the thunderstorm called Bad Romance.

Gaga is blasting through, out of her surreal world, wailing into my headphones, reminding me with every verse, line, lyric, riff what naked talent sounds like when it takes off its top, bares its breasts and goes on
a music rampage that makes average rockers look and sound like the timid copycats and also-rans that they are.

Salvador Dali never cared that clocks cannot curve and bend like pieces of fabric blowing in the wind. Or like butter melting in the sun. He simply painted what he wanted because that’s what he saw.

Picasso didn’t give a whit that to all of us, peoples’ faces don’t look like cubes. He simply created the art he believed in because it suited him.