Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Why would you trade your heart for one that is not beating anymore?

Because it is strictly a deal


Thursday, January 24, 2008

I am going to SXSW this year. I have to. It is on my to-do list.
Mid-January bleakness. Skies are a heavy gray that fold down on the mind. I am a cyclist. Not pedaling, rather pushing through a shade I don't understand. Can't comprehend. Don't Care.

That is a lie. I care. Sometimes at least.

My state is not that disheveled, rather I am just frustrated. I want so badly not to work. Just to quit my job and live. Write whenever I want to. There are so many things that I have been wanting to write. When I walk down the street I see scenes, clips of of the day, that are phrases; sections of stories. Ideas that I have to neglect in order to pay the bills and get my assignments done. When I graduate maybe I will just escape, move away, find a radio station out west to DJ at, a mindless waitress job, an apartment with the bare bones, and write--- just write.

Omaha perhaps.

I've been digging Centipede E'est and their song "Mirrors" lately. It is a solid, well written, modern psychedelic-rock track that taps into the reservoirs of energy. I believe it to be about rear-view mirrors and driving on the highway, but (in honor of my 8:30AM poetry class) "the message the piece is trying to deliver is deeper than that." It is trying to convey the idea that even if you check both side mirrors and use a blinker before switching lanes life can still bite you in the ass; luckily I inherited my mom's ass.


Monday, January 21, 2008

This is why I love my job.
Trying a new title. Don't know if I like it. I guess I will take it for a test run. See how it does. Let the headache wear off. Uh, my head.

Why do people leave?

Monday, January 14, 2008

I had to go back and look at the last thing I posted, to try and get a bearing on everything. Because right now it feels like I am at the laundry mat, standing with heavy shoulders, my arms long and lifeless tacked on to my torso, drone eyes starring at the over sized dryer, watching the clothes tumble. Dingy t-shirts fall on top of worn towels, the button on a pair of jeans builds a tempo--- clink, __________ , clink, __________ , clink, _________ --- under garments exposed for all to see, around and around and around and around. Clothes are no longer clean once they leave the dryer.

This semester is going to be intense. I have a history class, the third level of Spanish, a poetry writing class (at 8:30 in the morning), contemporary literature with a reading list consisting of eight substantial novels, and an advanced fiction writing class. I am still waiting tables and holding my duties as music director for WKNC. I will do it. I have to. It will be good for me; my last semester with no chemistry classes. Combining a fiction writing class in the same semester as a poetry writing class all while reading novels that have been published from 1999 through 2007 should force me to really write. I will find out better who I am, who I am not, my fears, my weaknesses, my strengths, and my voice.

Letter to a Young Writer, by Richard Bausch is one of the first assignments for my fiction writing class. I read it last night and I felt a minor sense of encouragement. Bausch's most permeating advice was the simplest and romantic of all-

"Do not think. Dream. Dream the story up. Make it up. Be fanciful. Follow what comes to you to say and try not to worry about whether or not it's smart or shows your sensitive nature in the best light or delivers the matters of living that you think you have learned. Just dream it up and let the thing play itself out as it seems to want to."

This should be applied to all things in life.

There were however two things I wanted to add to his list of Ten Commandments for young writers. Two very important things.

1. Do not drink. Do not let alcohol consume who you are or how you act. Do not let it get in the way of what you want to do. It is a potent substance that will dull the mind and harden the soul.

2. Love someone. Try, at least try, to experience love. Don't try too hard. Don't fabricate it. Let it find you, and don't be scared when it does. There is power in the connection between two human beings [Or at least that is what I want to believe].

So for right now, those are the two things I have on my mind; keeping of course the intents to find authenticity and live deliberately.

Also debating changing the blog title.

Bobby Conn brightens the day. Mr. Conn, how do your clothes stay so bright?

Wednesday, January 02, 2008

A new year. Is it not just a number?

Plant the ass in the seat, and write.

I am ready for school, which will mean much less drinking. My liver needs a rest. Funny how when school isn't in, I am letting my brain relax and putting the liver to the test.

Syntax. Look at that sentence structure. Tisk, Tisk.

Authenticity is what I want for 2008. I told someone that and they didn't get it. Silly boy. Can't you see? Authenticity is an extension of living deliberately, a way of keeping the mind from becoming lazy, self exposure.

Authentic with others, self, and the cultures. Authentic sounds. Music.

Wes Anderson meet Devendra Banhart, please.

Clean the desk. Look at the bank account, a few bills. Think about the grocery store. Stretch. Don't drink,,,,,,