The imagination imitates. It is the critical spirit that creates.
Seven Line Poem
Endymion’s a restless dreamer
Stormtossed coffin bound in raging moonlight
Cold skin, warm lips,heart full of nails
Your Sleeping Beauty’s a boy tonight
That Siren sweet singing will never raise the dead
But the song is a prayer and his breathing is steady
And the night smells like Hyacinth and miracles…
There’s an episode of “Friends” in which one of the characters is so frightened by a Stephen King novel that the book has to be put in the freezer. A friend of mine told me recently that they threw a copy of “The Shining” into the desert because it bothered them that much. While I myself am not a great Stephen King fan per se, I’ve been reading one of his books and I’ve come to the point where I think it needs to go into the freezer. Only it isn’t a horror novel at all. It’s “On Writing” which is part advice manual, part autobiographical epistle and overall a very sincere and insightful bit of nonfiction. But the postscript, or rather the idea of it, is terrifying me a bit. It’s about his accident. And I know I should read it. I have a feeling it would be good for me to read it. But I’m kind of scared to. So I think I’m going to put the book in the freezer for just a little while.
“I’m gonna ask you the question people always ask me…what do you do?
Show me don’t tell me. Send me something you’ve written (fiction, poetics, obscenely verbose ranting, I don’t care) or digital photos or scanned art or some music you’ve recorded or whatever else you do that’s creative other than things of a tactile or aromatic nature. We’re creating something here. We’re on a mission from god. We’re reviving my frustrated literary editor ambitions and giving the lot of you an audience and a forum all at the same time. It’ll be Punk, it’ll be diverse, it’ll be cool. I’m calling it Spitegeist. Send me some things to put in it. I’ll post the link when the inaugural version is ready to go live. Then I’ll feel important:)
That is all,
Today I will make a half assed attempt at succeeding.
We’ll see how it goes. Arete, mi amigos.
Saw the constellation of Orion through a belt of lavendar clouds in a clear sky last night. Remembered being a child fascinated with the stars. Want to find a way to get that sense of wonder and awe back into my life.
Kurt Cobain, Journals…
Just, as it claims, the photocopied, handwritten notebooks of Kurt Cobain, sometimes funny, sometimes insightful, sometimes insane. Contains playlists for mix tapes and his mom’s stroganoff recipe alongside original lyrics, letters to friends and philosophic expounditure. There is an angry,tragic irony to the journal entries about how wrong everyone was for painting him as a suicidal addict, guilt ridden at the prospect of success.
Can’t make any sense of this thing, but it’s better than consulting a thesaurus. Meaningless but lovely words. Uses “exponential,” detritus'” and “feeble” all on the same page.