“Damnit, I told you Joe, I’m the captain! Your only job is to scrub the decks, make sure everything is clean and in order and make sure we don’t run into any pirates, sharks or whales. You’re in charge of lookout. That’s it! You got that?” he exclaimed sternly, with a fire red face. “I know, that’s what I've been doing, but I still want to learn the technical stuff and the tricks of the trade too!” I demanded.
“Hello my good sir,” I said to the dorky-looking clean-cut guy behind the desk. He didn’t look up. “Hello!” I said again. He was too busy staring at a computer screen. And my final attempt, “Uhuummmm, good day, good sir!” louder this time, with a slight cough and an attempt at a British accent. I know I looked like a bum, but I figured if I sounded British, he may give me better service or maybe I was wrong. I hadn’t been to many hotels before.
Seeing that my last post about the incredible, thought-provoking book House Of Leaves had such a positive response, I decided to share another excerpt here. This remarkable passage is about a moment in the main character's journey where he must burn a book down to its very last page in order to finish reading it. This is so beautiful and dramatic to me, that no matter how many times I read it, I seem to learn something new and get in touch with odd feelings of emotion and wonder that are practically indescribable
We argue about an infinite amount of topics, some of which are crucial to life and the stability of our current system and others with an insignificant amount of long-term relevance, but they nevertheless spark debate and controversy, attracting many to endlessly discuss and argue without apparent logic, contributing to strong emotional and offensive behaviors.
I’ve been happily reading the House of Leaves (published in March 2000) for the past few months. A book which has gained legendary status because of its unconventional style and format that has left many readers in deep fascination and respect for the author Mark Z. Danielewski who spent years to create this impressive and artistic work. HOL has an international popularity and appeal, with translations in a number of different languages and college courses dedicated to unraveling the mysteries of the House.
Many amateur artists look at their artwork with a feeling of disappointment and dread.. They torment themselves with regret because they are not yet masters creating masterpieces or they are just plain unsatisfied with their progress. Ashamed of their work. They prefer to lock it up in a closet - to hide it from the world or destroy it by fire. And I say hold on to it. Hold onto everything that you produce. You never know, if you continue on this path, those early “failures” might be worth something.
As an artist, I like to explore and understand every type of emotion, including the heartfelt and passionate ones. I've been known to listen to some very romantic songs and watch a loving film or two. I'm also not a stranger to the ups and downs of relationships. Strong emotions, intimacy, and passion is all part of the experience. I find it fun and exciting to create simple yet powerful poems to express some of those feelings...
That name. His name. It echoed in my consciousness as we crashed through the American landscape. A juggernaut of metal and mysterious goods, which for the life of him, he would not reveal, “Come on, just tell me what we’re hauling back there!” And his response was always the same, “Shut up and keep your eyes peeled for the coppers!” “I am, and I’ve been operating this stupid radio like you asked me to but why can’t you tell me, huh?”
On the Road by Jack Kerouac is one of America's most loved and cherished novels of the twentieth century. Its beautiful and poetic prose has been admired and has inspired countless artists and writers from around the world like The Beatles, Jim Morrison of The Doors, Lana Del Rey, Allen Ginsberg, and Hunter S. Thompson..
Hi friends, I created this motivational post for one of the writing groups that I’m a member of. Even though the advice was meant for writers, I think it can also be applied to other disciplines and pursuits. How many of us let the fear of failure and rejection dictate our actions, paralyzing us from attaining what we truly wish to achieve? I encourage you to give this post a read and meditate on its meaning.
The other day I went out for a hike. Up towards a steep mountain edge. For some reason, I found myself in deep contemplation during the entire experience. Every step I took almost felt like I was walking through multiple layers of history. Maybe because I know that the trail I was on was traversed by countless peoples throughout the centuries. Going back past the Spanish conquest, with signs of indigenous markings all along the rocky path.
The other night I felt inspired by love, people and relationships, and I imagined what it's like to love someone that is very far away. We may look at their pictures online and talk on the phone, but of course, there's nothing like being right next to that someone special. I feel this little poem captures the emotions involved in this type of situation. If you're a traveler, I'm sure you can relate.
I recently watched the film BLACKFISH which is a 2013 documentary about killer whales (orcas) that are held in captivity within the amusement parks; SeaWorld and other similar parks. I’ve been wanting to watch this film for years because killer whales (to me) are the most beautiful, fascinating and majestic animals that live amongst us. They are the ultimate apex predators, much more impressive and intelligent than great white sharks. Weighing up to ten tons, with complex forms of communication
Hi friends, I wrote this poem to inspire writers, but I think the lesson here can be applied to any art form or worthy work. Enjoy! When daytime turns to nighttime and the hours creep past as shadows along the walls intricate crevices I reach a place of creativity where the words begin to sparkle and shine within my mind. Traveling at hyper speeds from my brains’ stem, to the linear patterns of my fingerprints, to a sheet of white
To honor those, and the memory of 9-11, I’ve written a poem. God Bless you: I especially remember the elevator … And all of those people. The multitudes The abundance of activities The businesses and Power of that place which reached every corner was sensed in the air