“Life is intrinsically, well, boring and dangerous at the same time. At any given moment the floor may open up. Of course, it almost never does; that’s what makes it so boring.”
Battle Hill by Bread In Captivity
I am incredibly proud of this guy. Each song he writes gets better and better. I love his older songs as well, but he is definitely growing as a songwriter and it is getting pretty amazing. The work these boys are doing is pretty awesome and if you like country mountain boys then this is the music for you.
Ernest Hemingway (via irisblasi)
Living as deeply as you possibly can is solid advice for anyone (but especially artists). I am trying to do everything I can to live a life that will make me happy. I think I’ve figured out certain things recently that will contribute to my personal happiness.
For starters I’ve got to do something about the “off-season”, if I’m going to keep doing what I’ve been doing the past five years anyway. I have discovered a renewed zeal for my own writing and, I think, the best way I could accomplish this is to find a place, free from family (no offense family) and stay there for a bit and write. If it could be near the TMM, that would be ok with me. Because I think I want him in my life more than he’s been, I think that would benefit us both.
I think I need to travel a bit more. I think I need to live in a slightly different place than I have been. I love the beach, and southern New England is freakin awesome, but I am absolutely open to something new and different. I think my sanity requires some changes, I think my mind might depend on me making certain changes in my lifestyle. I think I will be better off for making the changes.
I think it’s time.
I’ve started three writing projects this summer.
Ok, so, one of them is a carry over from last fall. The “Romance” novel based on the Tall Moustachioed Man’s creepy song about the dude who watches his neighbor from his kitchen window and wants to do her. But I’ve been working on it since June, but I’ve also been working on a Lovecraft inspired story and I started a new story the other night after watching Beastly and thinking it could have been done better (although I find MK’s performance pretty badass).
I’ve got to stop doing this. I’ve got to limit myself to one project or I’m never going to get anything finished. If it’s really a good idea, I’ll be able to work on it after I’ve finished the first one, right?
Then again, sometimes it helps, I find, to work on something else when you’re stuck on one thing.
I really should just play the violin instead when I’m stuck.
“This combination of electrical plus chemical cyanide is DUMB and i’m going in the wrong direction; you’re the only one who knows how to use this garbage and, of course, you’re never here.”
- Mitch Taylor, Real Genius
(I love this movie so damn much and it both makes me sad and incredibly happy that people don’t know this hidden Val Kilmer gem.)
My hero… doesn’t he look good on a bike?
BECKA: richard coyle is now on covert affairs. and he looks good.
AAAHHHHH!!!! AND on a MOTORCYCLE…. he looks even better….
I have this unfounded fear that I am losing my identity as an Artist.
It sort of came out of nowhere and jumped me, like a mugger in the dark. Perhaps I’ve been reading too many crime novels lately (three in a row? That’s a lot); perhaps I’ve allowed myself to become distracted by other aspects of life; perhaps I have never truly been an Artist.
Sometimes I think I don’t actually want to be an Artist as much as I want to live the life of an Artist. If that’s the case then anything I create is meaningless and I really don’t want that be the case. I’ve never had a show, I’ve never been published, I haven’t performed on stage in about six years, but I continue to write my stories and draw my pictures and practice my violin. So it must not be all fantasy, right? I do these things because I love them.
I write stories and draw pictures and glue pieces of paper together and draw my bow across the strings not because of some affectation, but generally because I can’t express myself any other way.
Anecdote: when my father was in the hospital I stopped reading. The entire month of August I didn’t read. Not until the last week when he was going home and I was going back to work I read a Sue Grafton novel.
I didn’t write either. I didn’t write stories, I didn’t write in my journal, I didn’t express myself with words. I couldn’t handle words. Words couldn’t encompass how I was feeling and what I was going through.
That month I watched a lot of TV on my computer and drew. I drew pictures and made collages and threw color on pages. Things I could create while watching TV on my computer. I put everything I was feeling into those images. I played with color and design and texture.
I didn’t write.
I didn’t make music.
I made pictures.
Now, obviously, I can write about it. I can reflect on what my family was going through last year, what I was going through last year, and I can put words on a page. I can write in my notebook, I can spin stories, I can play music. I can draw pictures. But at the time all I had was a notebook, paper, scissors, pencils, markers, crayons, paint, glue. It’s what got me through.
I didn’t make anything remarkable, but it kept the walls from closing in, the wolves at bay. It put a smile on my face when I visited the hospital. It let me sleep at night.
Maybe I’m not losing my identity as an Artist. Maybe it’s all I am. A woman who feels (perhaps too much at times) and can only express those feelings through specific mediums. Perhaps the Person is second fiddle to the Artist and the reason I feel as though I am losing my identity as an Artist is because the Person is trying to hard to take over; she wants to live the life of the artist, but she can’t seem to surrender to the Artist.
Maybe I’m just talking out of my ass.