Lacy and I went on a beautiful hike up the treacherous Iron Mountain this morning. The view was wonderful, especially at the top, and the rocks protruding from all the surrounding mountains were explosively colorful, and truly a delight to my eyes. It was nice to inhale some fresh mountain air and get out of the city for a bit.
It is always a really awkward situation when you’re eating a footlong banana, especially if you’re a man. I can’t imagine trying to have a serious conversation whilst eating a banana, it’s just too comical.
So I have been thinking about writing like a fanatic as of late, and perusing over jack Kerouac’s famous writing logs does not help to quiet the creative storm that rages in my tortured artists soul. It is truly an incredible thing to read the words that sprung out of a dead man’s soul. And to have those musings touch you in a way that no one has ever spoken to you before. They become a part of you and begin to shape your character, principles and everything. There truly is a way to be immortalized, Kerouac in a wild way, is living through me, that flow that he had and harnessed beautifully throughout his mad, isolated life, has now entered me and millions of others. The torch has been passed and it is up to me to make something of it.
I love writing, but I’ve found it is difficult for me to type out my thoughts, it’s too scattered and mechanical. But I’m going to try just for ease of the writing process. I usually write everything longhand in cursive but that just makes it twice as hard, if I want to actually type it out or print it, or do anything useful with it, rather than let it collect dust with all my other notebooks full of the madness of my mind. It’s truly a daunting task decoding my own cursive, so that’s an event in itself, and then I have to type it out, add in punctuation, edit and revise. Just talking about it wears me out. But it’s the only way I have found to be able to keep this endless flow of ideas coming.
Anywho I’m a tad hung-over from the night previous, drinking sparkling wine alone as I wrote lyrical poems and pondered my creative yearnings, which are forming incompletely in my withered, tired brain. When I don’t write, or don’t write enough then I lose my balance and it feels as though I am going to tip over and all of the greatness that is within that I can feel so subtly lately, will spill out and leave me here, just a pile of bones and nothingness, an empty vessel with no greatness. Perhaps that would be a blessing, to be emptied of all this hocus pocus, materialism and American ideals of transgression and dichotomy. To not have to live with the burden of greatness or failure to be neutral and not worry, or mull over these maddening thoughts until they eat at you, so you must purge your body of them through expression. Such a glorious hateful thing this double-edged sword of creativity.
I am fond of Germaniums and lilies. Those are the only two flowers I could look at and tell you the name. (besides the general, seen in cartoon flowers, like sunflowers and tulips) Lilies are so lively and happy as they dance in the suns rays. And germaniums are beautiful in a traditional rosy kind of fashion. Excuse my random ramblings, but I don’t know where these things come from. Or maybe I do know, who knows.
Consciously Is the best way to live. Unconsciously is a lower road that doesn’t exactly lead o the sacred grotto of soul awareness that I seek so diligently. The intelligentsia of this generation seems depleted compared to the glory days, of the 40’s 50’s and 60’s or maybe I just am at the point in my journey where I attract the things and people from my old depleting, heavy world consciousness. Perchance since I am on the cusp of an old way of life, thinking, and perception, and entering the new there are still slight resonations of my old consciousness that the universe picks up and delivers back to me. Also the opposite is true and ever increasing are the blessings that come with accepting the blessings that come so naturally. Today is a good day. smile
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