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The Difference Between
Input and Output

     ...we’re here, we do stuff,
        and then we’re gone.
              —Robert Downey, Jr.

It turns out to be about death
but “not in a morose way,” he
says shortly after his dad passes.
They’d been collaborating on a
documentary together, featuring
his dad, named after him: Sr.

when I watch movies or teevee
shows, streamers, as these seem
to be called collectively at this 

moment, I come away from that
experience revivified. I somehow 

manage to maintain all of the 

big networks (or whatever we call 

them anymore), pay the monthly

fees, even as they keep going up 

and up.  They now make up, by

far, most of the tiny monthly bud
get that I have.  Sometimes I fail

to remember to watch them, tend 

not to pick up the console to turn 

on my gargantuan teevee. When I
do, I most often do it when I am

feeling down, which, these days, 

is too often. I’ve always had to 

deal with depression, ever since 

I can remember, and this particular 

fix has always been a go to. Others 

come and go – like going to the 

cinema or taking a walk through 

the streets of the city in which 

I live and love – but these days it’s 

watching a series, one of several 

I happen to be in the middle at of

at any given moment (unlike in the 

past, I now actually finish them!) or, 

on a rare occasion I watch an entire 

movie, something I used to do with 

such regularity that I’d often see
five or six a week. Now, it’s almost 

never. But I saw two today. Both of 

which I loved. One, an adaptation 

of the first half of a book I read 

several times as a too precocious 

child (Dune) and Sr. And I even

caught a couple of episodes of
a couple of the series in which

I’m currently in the middle or 

near the end. The end. Death 

sat vehemently at the fore
front of both of these films.
But I don’t feel worse than 

when I first tuned in to each? 

Resoundingly, I feel much

better. I believe I need to

remind myself to do this 

more often. The only other 

thing I can think of as an

almost sure-fire remedy
for a bout with these blues

is writing, which I’m doing 

this very moment. When I

write these pieces, I will 

invariably make a big 

production out of whether 

or not anyone is out there.

Whether you exist. I have

ego. I want to be part of a 

conversation. Of course I do. 

And, if you do, indeed, exist,

my gratitude, really. But even 

if this just goes out into vapor,

and I’m its only audience, what 

would be the problem with that? 

But if you are there, thank you, 

people of television and film. I 

really do mean that. What life 

I get from the tenacious creativity

of others. Thank you for that, too.