Image ripped off avesonprojectsc1Had a nice time out with Robert, Laurie, and Ken last night. They are always refreshing because, like D___ in Tulsa, they are above the quarter-life crises bullshit. Though I'd like to think of myself in that way, I'm not really there yet. I'd like to grasp and live the idea that Robert posed: "An artist is simply a lover of life." But then Mary Oliver comes to mind: "Don't love your life too much."
The conflict in my feelings toward transcendentalism and humanism is reflected in my ambivalence toward high brow and blue collar literature.
Whitman was both, though he used loose structure.
William Carlos Williams claimed to speak in colloquial language, though his concepts were all but.
Hunter S. Thompson ever was a satire of reality in order to better hold a mirror to reality.
Rilke was transcendent and humanistic, not blue collar.
Lorca was high brow, other worldly, though he wished to write of the people.
Salinger may fit all the above because he somehow managed to talk about it all with and without his tongue in cheek.
Dostoevsky was all.
O'Connor was all.
As in other areas of life, to be honest is to be. I shouldn't think of molding myself, but should be myself.
Over the last 10 years, the three closest to me in friendship and geographical proximity have all been over the age of 60. They're above the ambition, relationship drama, idea of cool, etc.
Maybe I'm closer than I think. Maybe I should stop thinking.
"A dissonance
in the valence of Uranium
led to the discovery
Dissonance
(if you are interested)
leads to discovery"
From William Carlos Willaims' Patterson
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