haven’t written much here in awhile. I blame it all on bad timing. when I don’t have much time to myself and I don’t spend that much time with myself, I start to lose myself. after a short while I really start to feel the effects of it, that I’m practically slipping away, being pulled under, and there’s nothing I can do. believing there’s nothing that can be done only solidifies it. at that point, coming here to form a public journal entry only feels like I’m wasting other people’s time.
art or writing or thoughts silenced or starved, manifest in other areas, taking different shape. a writer, however, wants to hold onto his or her original talent and speak with that voice they could so easily depend on. in other words, no amount of consolation southes a person suffering mental drought. you simply have to get moving again.
with the idea of starting a magazine and at the same time being in the midst of this drought — this has shaken me. I know over the next few months or weeks even, the cob webs will start to fall away. the words and ideas will flow again.
. . .
we hopped over to the poetry reading at the fountain. the gloomy spirits were trash-baggish and limp, getting up, sitting back down. this is my piece, which I didn’t really write, it’s a song actually, and by the way, I’m tone deaf and don’t really know all the words — so I hope you like it . . .
well damn. what an introduction. it was one of those awful truths. getting up in front of the crowd and right off the bat saying you’re gonna blow fumes out your ass from here to the end of church street only gives a cue for anyone who has something better to do with their time to get up and leave.
. . .
I’m having a hell of a time reading Dostoevsky. I just picked up a new, un-tattered copy of the Brothers Karamazov. I read it in bed and Kalika climbs in expecting me to read some of it to her. she is just a cat so I suspect much of the plot she doesn’t understand, especially when the old buffoon, the father, misbehaves in public, bringing shame to the entire family. Alyosha’s servant goes so far to predict a parricidal scandal to take place among them. it shall become a big enjoyable mess that we live for in literature, especially when we sometimes look at the classics with a bored eye. Dostoevsky sometimes hits with the boring stuff himself (maybe this is only my own lacking), but who doesn’t?, and it’s all forgotten when he writes something that has changed your life. his pen reaches through history, translation after translation. I have the new Barnes and Noble print now, made available March 2004. are you proud, Fyodor? if you could only receive royalties lifetimes later! we owe you much.
a good aspect
is to move slow at times
ensure we behave well
a supreme asset
is to work hard and
bring humor to
the things you do
into it by
and kiss the earth