I have no energy to write creatively right now. Here is the bottom line:
____- since i discovered copyright depuis 1965 on flickr, i cannot write. her photos say it all.
____- my ticket is all organized. i leave Los Angeles at 9:30pm on the 2nd evening of August.
____(- i stop pause my writing for a moment to repeat Breathe by Sia)
____- i find myself generally unaffected by all this. there are things i will miss (the LA sky, pinkberry, my afternoon walks, Ashtree telling me to GET ON IT), there are things i am looking forward to (my piano, genuine alone time, knowing my way around, and mostly: w_i_n_t_e_r_), "this is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object", the result is no net emotional response.
____- this whole day i tried to slow things down so i could sit alone and pray out of my new paperback (read: i can underline and scribble in it!) Prayers and Meditations of Baha'u'llah. i was not successful.
____- i know nothing about the future; other than it will require much hard work. incredible reserves of patience; and with no easily distinguishable features/victories/achievements. Since this is not too different from the past, I find it easy enough to tolerate.
____- how is it that i can feel simultaneously victorious, and unparalleled loser?
____- this whole day i haven't though about kissing once.
____- i have been trying to gather in my mind a 'list of things i've learnt since February 13th'. i cannot seem to distill anything down that much. we are still too close to see anything clearly. mostly everything is blurred together.
____- i hate that i have become the friend that is always needing attention/an ear/your patience. i used to be the friend that gave an ear/patience/attention... how'd that happen? In any case, if a measure of a man's success were the quality and quantity of his friends, i would be the most successful man to have lived. i love you all.
____- THE AUTHOR MUSES ON HIS ART:
when i write i always start from a title... or a phrase. something definitive. the germ cell for the whole work- the DNA so to speak. Hallett Cove (a History) may not mean much to everyone, but to me, Eman, Farhat, Farnosh, Ilya, Arman... it means a whole universe. A Sleep with No Dreams, i just mused on that phrase for weeks before it grew itself. Even the larger works are like that- the novel was like that. Grew itself out of just one phrase: Two Days Till Winter. Also, just about everything I write, every post on this blog, every page of every thing has a patron song. The new story (the unwritten one), it's What You Wanted, by Angus and Julia Stone. I listen to it regularly to water my story.
____So, we have this essence. From that comes a kind of inchoate sense of atmosphere. Then phrases start to build up. Sometimes they're things from other sources I've been saving up in my head (a sunday smile) (save the last chance for me) (everyday is better than the next) (a portrait of the soul as a man), other times they are novel lines that i think up for the occasion. From those lines comes clusters of images. the images define the language. staccato- short sentences. legato (longer, softer sentences). From that i can determine characters, plots and so on.
____The reason i said all this is because, Bye Bye LA, which I have staunchly determined to write on August 2nd at approximately 11pm is not evolving as planned. I have some images in my head, but nothing that's going to be enough. I am a little worried.
____- the single most unpleasant experience that i know of is having my hair washed at the hairdresser.
____- i am trying soo hard to speak honestly, and to say the things that i want to say. it is not working. not working at all.
____- why do i crash land everywhere i go, and leave soon after in a big lunatic-asylum-whirlwind, leaving in my wake too many half-formed friendships, books, unkissed conversations sitting in cars outside my house, socks and underwear, flashcards, memories. memories (memories)
____- i watched So You Think You Can Dance tonight, and was overcome with soo many people living their dream, being successful at things they want to be successful at, working towards goals... and felt incredibly... meager. i turned it off and took a shower instead.
____- i am too young to be this old
why can't i write?
if you have suggestions, comments, circus tricks you'd like to see me attempt, feel free to post comments/email me your ideas/questions/topics/challenges, and hopefully they will inspire some better writing.
for now.
let's just forget this ever happened and try and get some sleep.
5 comments:
like you told me, the best writing/poetry comes from raw emotion.
i am happy that your most unpleasant experience was at the hairdresser.
and if there were a "so you think you can blog" program, i think you'd be living out your dreams/talents/past-time on national tv.
"It is time, love, to break off that sombre rose,
shut up the stars and bury the ash in the earth;
and, in the rising of the light, wake with those who awoke
or go on in the dream, reaching the other shore of the sea which has no other shore. "
- Pablo Neruda
Hows that corny phrase go? ... "sing like no one is listening, live like you are about to die, dance like no one is watching and fuck like you're being filmed"
Try writing as though no one else in the world will ever see it. You might surprise yourself at what is produced.
I prefer to stay anonymous so I can minimize the chance of bias and systematic error in this experiment.
i do do that.
just not on a public blog...
but i haven't had any 'alone' time where i can sit somewhere alone long enough to produce what i want. (thank god for international 10+ hour plane flights- my favorite thing in the world). All the time i need. Perfectly alone. Headphones. Books. Pens. Paper.
should get something out of it.
I'd love to see a blog about an ideal woman/friend/lover/lady who can motivate and inspire you to be all that you can be.
What would she look like? Think like? What qualities would she possess?
(Consider me the anonymous #2, I posted the second anonymous comment, not the first.)
-Anon2
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