Wednesday, December 28, 2011

A Note on Antonin Artaud

Always grappling with his innards he attempted to communicate by shoving everyone into his body.

Watchfiends & Rack Screams



Friday, December 23, 2011

Notes

Journal Excerpts


I'll get to know someone, talk to them frequently or semi-frequently for months/years, and then part with them for whatever circumstantial reason, never to talk to them again. Sometimes the communication fizzles out, but regardless, communications stops. I've always found this aspect of life bizarre and hard to adjust to. I still think fondly of many people, but realize I probably don't even know them now. I'm not who I was at 18, though I am.


The good thing about having a full stomach is that I'm forced to slowly savor my wine and red velvet cake.


In bar, involuntary audible sigh escapes me when The Wind Cries Mary begins.


I saw this girl today who was 20, but might as well have been 70. Somehow she was already beyond vanity or at least self consciousness of her beauty and youth. She was reading the paper on the train. Not fashionable. Worn mauve fingernail polish. Fluffy hair. She only frowned when she looked at her guy friend.


Sky is soon to be purple.





Standing on the 5 train platform at Union Square, I caught the scent of a passerby's aftershave and felt as if I were an entirely different person -- alone in New York with book while waiting on the train.


When a piece of poetry or music becomes more than that, poetry or music, it is what it was conceived to be, regardless of the author's intentions.


Write with no hope nor fear.


I'm in and entering a great highlight of my life. I was looking at photographs of my time in Spain, and I don't long for those days as much as I cherish now. Discipline is no longer the issue, it's a right frame of mind that I need. I'm there. I'm going to enjoy NYC, enjoy exercise, enjoy writing. And quit making everything so heavy. Life is now. I'm living it and I'm happy. Now are the golden days.


Woke this morning to see the perfect circle of a blood red sun floating between two buildings.


Some days I allow the slow walkers to pace me, to allow me to smell the roses. Some days I curse them.


After you become wealthy, win awards, and no longer need money or esteem, I imagine you return to the motive for creating art with which you began: it's fun and you want to.


Wednesday, December 14, 2011

I Had a Big Idea and Forgot It

"The soul has to find and hold its ground against hostile forces, sometimes embodied in ideas which frequently deny its very existence, and which indeed often seem to be trying to annul it altogether." --Saul Bellow

I had a good thought and marinated it till it was at it's juiciest, only to find that as I sat down to write it, it had evaporated. But it had to do with the point, if there is a "point", of being an artist today. Bellow's quotation came to mind after the thought left me, and hits close to what I wanted to explore.

The soul has little, if any, breathing room today, and I think it's the job, conscious or not, of the artist to continue to funnel oxygen to it.

Oh, man, maybe I'll come back to this.


Monday, December 12, 2011

Sentimental

There's always something to want, always something better to be had, but I'm grateful for the times I realize how lucky I am to listen to music and read in our heated apartment while my lovely wife navigates facebook. I'm grateful for how being in the same room with her puts me at ease, regardless of whether or not we're interacting.