A little snapshot of a poem I wrote recently.
From the sacred
Mania and domination
History and habit
I have seen the unseen
The same blindfold
Fallen from grace
Mother Earth gives life to energy
Blindfolds falling off
I opened my heart
That my breath
Is my spirit
Journeying into transcendent realms
Into a distant heaven
Illusion is our blindfold
I was recently talking to a Bay Area native about music. Do you know how rare it is to meet a native of the Bay Area? Well, a native of anywhere? We are constantly all moving, and wandering the planet for one reason or another. Our talk? Music.
Now I can get down with most types of music. So open your ears, and open your eyes. Sometimes you may just find something that you’ll really like. His goal… turning me on to some Pat Metheny.
The man… silver hair pulled back into a braided pony tail. Apple cider vinegar a day type. His cousin learned guitar from Jerry Garcia. He protested with black panthers in Berkeley and Oakland. He lived through the crack epidemic brought on my you know who, and lives to tell about it.
The movie, “Soul” by Pixar brings up the recent Jazz topic too. Perhaps the newest hot button lately? Escaping your conscious into subconscious with jazz. Look at the painters who lose themselves in jazz while painting, or the writers who lose themselves in writing… with a beat rolling and jumping and flying and diving.
It is now that I really know what this guy is talking about. So… forget your typical sound baths with crystal bowls. Well, don’t forget about it, if you like it … then keep on keeping on. But the point I guess, is that you can get the same feeling from this that you can of that. Because sometimes it is nice to just escape to another planet of sound, and land back on earth soundly.
Three fat sausage fingers slide up and down her shoulder.
His pony tail smooshed to the back of his head…shifted to the right.
He didn’t have time between his nap, and the show.
Too much pot he smoked before the show.
Shewp, shewp, shewp, shewp.
My eyes grow wide.
Fuck…I am stuck next to these two for the next hour and a half.
As the man on the other side sucks his spit through the canyons of his teeth.
The pulled pork threads sit locked and loaded
I want to hear the speaker speak,
I consider asking these annoying people to stop with their annoyances.
Shewp, shewp, shewp, shewp.
Scratch, scratch, scratchity scratch, scratch, scratch.
My upset and overwhelmed brain begins to force my eyeballs out of my head.
I point a my index finger to my left ear to the incessant arm brusher.
For fuck’s sake.
Is the public display of attention THAT important.
Stop that already!
I visualize a mad man lunging toward him.
Grabbing his fingers, and chopping them off one by one.
Wait, is this a nervous tick?
Am I being a dick..?
My tiny index finger is this man’s saving grace.
Just go get some fucking tooth floss you indigent!!!
Nope, don’t say it.
Don’t be rude.
You drove a long way to hear this man speak…
The speaker speaks.
I fumble in my chair uncomfortably.
His voice rises just enough to muffle twiddledee and twiddledum.
A girl giggles nervously.
Another howls like she used to at a 1980’s arena rock concert.
My name is Ashley…
As she kisses her nineteen year old boyfriend on the lips.
Slips the tongue.
A french one.
We all know about THAT one.
He speaks, and reads me a tale or two
Lightning strikes from the rugged dark blue and grey clouds above.
His voice carries
as the thunders roll through the purple hills.
Crisis averted for twiddledee and twiddledum.
I use this blog more for poetry, but today I am writing something a little more personal. It is about the process of being a writer. Starting, stopping, being welcomed, being rejected, and that awful day of accidentally losing all your work.
Have any of you ever lost all your work writing?
As it turns out, I was not so great about keeping my work backed up. Two years of research, and writing of ideas… gone. Poof. Smoke bomb. Gone like the wind. The dust has settled now.
What I didn’t realize is if there is too much music stored on a Mac Book Pro, that it will literally wipe out the writings on Scrivener. That is exactly what happened to me. Luckily it was just research. Luckily I write my outlines on paper, and there weren’t too many projects already started. So after some research, and re-writing the good ideas I can remember…I have started again. Where some folks feel bad about my loss, it actually isn’t that bad. It just tells me what I already know. Time to actually jump on an idea.
So I am looking at this as a fresh clean slate. The days are getting darker, and my writing is getting better. At least I think it is? I still continue to write poetry. I still paint. The idea is… never give up. Today I started writing a new novel. I could not be more excited about the twists and turns it will take. My trusty sidekick doesn’t sit too far away in my apartment while I write. Sometime she grumbles at me for a head scratch, or a ball toss which is a much welcomed break.
Lesson learned. Back up your work, before it goes bye bye. Stop being weird. Stop thinking nobody wants to hear your story. Stop being fearful of the judgement. Just finish it, publish it, and the universe will do what it will with it. These novels are just my brains way of painting a picture. More for me than the general public. There is a certain vulnerability displaying your imagination to everyone. It is much like the feeling of standing naked in front of someone for the first time. It can be exciting, and terrifying all at the same time.
“if it doesn’t come bursting out of youin spite of everything, don’t do it. unless it comes unasked out of your heart and your mind and your mouth and your gut, don’t do it.”
There are times when there isn’t anything coming into my head. No witty quotes, funny stories, creativity, nothing. Just a blank slate. The truth is… How can you force it. It’s like taking a shit. You can’t force it, or you are bound to get a hemorrhoid. The forced stories/words also coming out being total… You guessed it….shit. So instead of feeling bad about a lack of inspiration, and wanting to pound my forehead unto the table out of frustration… I wait. I read. I look at art. Drink wine. Nap. Keep working the day job. Learn from others… and take more naps. Because if I don’t think it’s great, I certainly won’t put it in my novel not my blog.
Thank the heavens above and below for Charles Bukowski… and the soft vices which won’t kill us…too quickly.