There are multiple ways to write. A few examples: a) you already have the story in your head, pretty much in its entirety (this happens to me sometimes); b) you invent a character, put it somewhere, like a store or a cafe or a gym, and let the character take charge of the story; c) and I just thought of this one, you can discuss a topic that interests you with a friend while recording the conversation. Then listen to it and transcribe your more interesting remarks.
I suppose that last one would be better suited for essay writing.
There’s a documentary on Kenneth Koch on YouTube, and he mentions a technique whereby he just gets behind a typewriter then writes unfiltered. The he goes back and edits — or more like, salvages.
I also read an interview in the book The Essential Allen Ginsberg where Ginsberg advised his writer friends to do like he does if they want to put out a book: go though your journals and pick/choose/edit.
What about who I am or what. I’m not sure how many people think in terms of “what” when they consider their identity, but do you think of “what” often, or is it more like “who?” We might consider a little of both. It seems that the what is more like which labels apply, or what do you feel like in relation to them. And who might be ego or your archived past. I can’t find labels that suit me most of the time. Weirdo maybe. Or unorthodox. Or strange. Politically correct I am unique. Interesting.
I feel like nothing. I have empty inside me but it feels nice. This is the joy of dumbness, or being struck dumb. I am dumb in the face of the mysteries of the universe. I cannot comprehend. I “understand” the universe spiritually but it ends there. Nothing else really registers, though a good Thai meal or a noteworthy cup of coffee or a poem will resonate. Good music like the unplugged jazz I listen to or certain classical music, like Beethoven or Schumann piano pieces or Schubert trios. Chopin and etc.
My house is like a religious house. No one here is religious but it is constantly quiet with us reading or thinking or daydreaming or sleeping or eating. My cat is loud enough to make up for the rest of us.
Nature can perhaps be thought of as a living thing that is part of our household and family, such as a cat or a dog, meaning that it trusts that we will care for it. And when we do not, this can be seen as betrayal and negligence. I could not fathom forgetting to feed my cat or to give her water and also to otherwise make sure she stays well. Same goes for the people around us. To a degree, they perhaps hope and expect we may act in their best interest, or at least not knowingly cause them harm. At best, we can help all life forms around us thrive, including ourselves.
With covid upon us, my weight spikes like virus cases in the U.S., but sometimes I wake up early enough to take walks
With covid, I do switch to the opposite side of the street if I see you coming my way, mask or not
With covid, I sometimes will watch a bus go by as I walk, and I realize that the driver must be as brave as first responders
With covid, many folks risk their lives to make ends meet
Although with covid, our economy sucks
And nothing is really changing to adapt for future, similar challenges, such as another global pandemic
Meanwhile, with covid, even being a consumer can be as sketchy as being in an ER, such as if you make an unnecessary run to the bookstore or go to the salon to get your nails done
Continue reading “In the age of air-hugs”
Oscar Wilde was editor of Woman’s World magazine, 1887-89. He also championed conventional attire for men.
John Lennon wore white. Fashion magazines will sometimes run his pic.
During an interview, a tidily dressed David Bowie did a good rendition of Lennon, voice-wise. It was abrupt but went over well.
Allen Ginsberg played finger cymbals and wore black. Ginsberg had a knack for mantra, and children loved him.
Was William Carlos Williams swallowed up by the forest? (The doctor chuckles as he sinks into the white beyond.) Maybe it was a happy death? Continue reading “Sporadic notes on cultural icons”
There’s a dead cypress tree in our backyard — a diminished-looking thing that one might otherwise consider an eyesore if it were not for the fact that it attracts birds like a magnet.
A couple of months ago, I spotted a northern flicker perched on one of the parched branches — pretty exciting, considering this is a species I typically spot only when I am up in the higher elevations of nearby Mount Charleston.
Regardless, the primary visitor to the tree for the past few weeks has been the house finch. The males are more interesting to look at due to their auburn flourishes, while the females are drab with their washed-out white and brownish hues.
Still, one interesting aspect of the females I’ve noticed lately through observation is how they throw themselves at the males. It’s funny: Several will gather around a sole male on a branch and make a fuss over it, often ending in unrequited admiration, with the male abruptly fleeing the scene. Continue reading “A cypress’ second life (plus a fun finch fact)”
I just finished a big fat biography on J.S. Bach. I like his music, but one of my primary reasons for reading it was to gain an understanding of why he’s so sanctified as far as how he’s perceived and recalled in the cultural consciousness. He earned his money primarily from composing music for Christian religious services, so there’s that, resulting in a good chunk of his compositional cache sounding liturgical.
Still, as I made my way through the 600 pages, I had hoped to come across some mention of incidents depicting him as fallible or human rather than untarnished/invincible deity. He did land himself in jail once for insubordination against his employer, but it was a minor incident blown way out of proportion by his superiors. Anyway, it’s interesting how his pristine public persona runs parallel with the saintliness valued in Christianity, especially back in Bach’s day. Continue reading “Bach’s spotless image”