For you dear reader

Now WordPress promises at the end of the blog stats that they do not count me viewing this blog.  Which means of course that one person actually came and viewed this blog!  Now I’m sure I could rustle up a little more readership if I advertised this blog to my friends and family (which might eventually happen).

For this moment I would like to thank the one individual who took the time to read through a couple of the posts.  Right on!  If you come through again and leave a comment or just a link to your own blog I will take the time to peruse your brilliance.

This post dear reader is for you!  Anything that you desire is yours for the asking.  All I can give is what I have–which for the purposes of this blog is words.

Here are a couple for you: (Enjoy!)

“Art is only a means to life, to the life more abundant. It is not in itself the life more abundant. It merely points the way, something which is overlooked not only by the public, but very often by the artist himself. In becoming an end it defeats itself.”  ~Henry Miller

“In oneself lies the whole world and if you know how to look and learn, the door is there and the key is in your hand. Nobody on earth can give you either the key or the door to open, except yourself.”  ~Jiddu Krishnamurti

Top Reasons to Blog

Top reasons to Blog:

You can share your deepest fears with no one ! (or everyone)

Kids think its cool.

A chance to connect with others!

You can do it at work and look like you are actually working.

A perfect excuse for not writing that book.

Fulfill that secret desire to share your diary with the world.

Bask in the praise of strangers.

Fight for your right to say whatever you would like.

Inflate your ego as your readership increases.

Alienate friends and family as you run out of things to write about.

Everybody’s doing it!

Henry Miller revisited

I mentioned in my last post that there was a second time when Henry Miller greatly effected my life.  Looking back however I realize that there were other occasions where his words infected my being.  For now I will focus on this one event that occurred a few years back when I was considering the possibility of graduate school.  To apply to many graduate schools you must first take the GRE which is similar to the SAT but for the next level of education. 

So the day of the grand influence.  We (Georgiana and I) go into Border’s Books with the intention of buying a GRE study guide that will allow me access to some online practice tests.  I’m perusing said books.  I’m unsure of the prospect of graduate school and of course this meaningless standardized test.  Why not go over and take a gander at some of the works of my great friend Henry Miller?  A Blessing and possible mistake all rolled into one.

The book: Henry Miller: On Writing.  I believe the Essay is entitled Reflections on Writing.  Do Not read this essay if you are thinking of going back to school.  I can’t get the exact quote at the moment (Will look into it) but it roughly has to do with finding out your path in life.  What I took from it:  You don’t need school to find out your true purpose.  (There is more to it and I just put it on hold so I’ll get the juciest bit of the quote in a day or two. ) Well and I’m out the door sans GRE study guide and Georgiana is dumbfounded at our departure. (Actually I was just talking to her about this episode and she said that she was unattached from the events.  Funny, one’s perspective on things)

Ah, there’s a little picture of the hero.  I have a feeling there will be more exploration into the realm of Henry Miller…and what has changed since I now find myself in graduate school.

Writing revisited

At different times I’ve fancied myself as a writer.  Dreaming big and at times going through the motions but always there is an impass reached where something happens and I am put off the course.  Is it within my control to stay on track and continue writing?

Honestly, I’m not sure.  A few years back I applied myself to the regime offered by The Artist’s Way and I actually made it all the way through the twelve-week program.  Yes I was surprised.  I tried it a few years before that and didn’t even get through the first week!  Committment issues on parade! 

So I’m back to the blank page watching the words fill up the screen and wondering from whence they came and where they are leading to.  Can you show me the way?  (If it were that easy I don’t think it would be worth the trip)  As my good friend Henry Miller once wrote–you’ve got to write a million words, perhaps more before you get down your first true word.  By the way, if you ever get a chance to visit his library in Big Sur it is well worth the trip.

Yes, a taste of beauty.  A magical place where mists rise from the ocean and blanket the jagged green mountains of the California coast.  So Henry Miller yes.  The romantic version of his life: moved to Paris at the age of 39 without much money but with a mission to write and be heard.  Taking up residence among the destitute populations of Paris he found his true voice and penned The Tropic of Cancer.  Read it if you get the chance.  It was published in Paris in the early thirties but the “obscenity” kept it from our Protestant American shores until the early sixties.  If you’ve ever read Miller before you know that he uses a fictionalized version of himself as the main character.  Where does the character end and the man begin?  Does it matter?

Miller influenced my life at different times.  The first time I found him (he found me?) was in a small bookstore in Blacksburg during my fifth year in college (extended studies-ha!).  Looking back I think I was looking for a book that would change my life and I was not going to settle for spiritual texts.   Displayed on one of the top shelves at the front of the store a 1960’s copy of Tropic of Capricorn.  I found inflammatory words that caused fits of jovial delirium.  I locked myself away and peeked inside as explosions detonated from the prose.  Wow!  I wanted to be a writer and write with abandon!  What was I doing in school getting so much tripe spoon fed to me only to regurgitate it all by filling in little black ovals with No. 2 pencil?  That is education?  I must travel the world and have great adventures, sup from the nectars of sexual passion–blow my mind away from its conditioned misery and begin to live!  ( I can feel my blood boiling right now!)

A good kick in the ass is what it was.  Life must be lived and I needed to step off of the sidelines and get into the game.  In a way that is what this blog is about.  Reminding myself that I don’t need to always intake other peoples stuff (books,films,art etc.) and can take the steps to explore my own creativity and how it (I) relate to the world.  I must admit that it is about damn time!

The Great Sponge

 

I am the great sponge. I read throughout the day at work, listen to Audio books in the car and tunes at home. I can’t believe how much I take in. Absolutely disgusting it is. I am in love with creativity but dreadfully afraid to be creative. I’ve kept journals before and started painful short stories. I’m left to wonder: what is the next step?

Being in graduate school I do have some outlet for thought. In the controlled environs of the online classroom my mind is stimulated into outputting information rather than this constant intake. Sick how much reading I do. I’m surprised that I have not finished typing these words and returned to the world someone else has already created.

But I know the creativity is there and wants to express itself. I can feel it. Right now my eyes are a bit tired from reading this computer screen and the blasted small type of The Book Thief. If only it was in large print! If you haven’t noticed that is my favorite character The Reader speaking through me. He/she would like nothing better than to dive right back into that book and pick up where we have left off. Another adventure to be lived and seen through to its conclusion.

We are bird-watching this week–Fruffle is the name of the cockatiel–and while I was typing on the computer this morning he/she moved down off of my shoulder and sat on my hand. An arduous journey that required beak grappling and daredevil claw maneuvering. I daresay this bird has guts. Fruffle stopped on my hand and stared up at me and began making these soft whistling noises. If I was tech savvy enough I would put a link right hereso that you could enjoy these light rumblings. Alas–no such luck. Fruffle was looking for some loving!

And I provided the said loving. With the simple gesture of moving my fingers lightly around his/her neck region I made a small creature close its eyes and suck from the eternal nipple. (In my fondest imaginings) I thought I was the one giving and Fruffle receiving when in actuality I gained from Fruffle. What is important in life? Why am I here? (I know, one of your favorites too) The preciousness of the moment. The simple gesture of reaching out and sharing a touch.

My life. Here, there, and Everywhere.

The picture is from here.