So yeah what up doh; it’s been a minute I know. My apologies, let me first say, I missed you dearly. And Miike Snow, I missed him too. Nobody knows it but me but I’m still an animal. Don’t forget to cry at your own burial. Why isn’t that spelled barial? Or least pronounced thus? The English language has the strangest nuances. Last week, a dude from Quebec pointed out to me how I lucky I was be a native English speaker; he illustrated this through enough. Through (threw) enough (enuf). Funny stuff, but only if you’re a linguist, or are trying to become one.
I’m reading The Picture of Dorian Gray. What a great work of art about works of art. I feel like now more than ever we can relate to Oscar Wilde’s humble suggestions. Lord Henry seems to think that art today (a statement made about the nineteenth century, but still very vogue in 2012, the mark of a honestly great production of art.) is entirely too autobiographical. Art is nature, and the artist just the blessed vehicle conveying the true aesthetic. The true artist, like Basil, is not interesting. He does not captivate the world, that is for the second rate panderers who can but mimic the beauty of true art. Everyone loves the court jester (Jeff Dunham?), but few gain worldly insights from Achmed the dead terrorist. Like this cover of Dreams by Passion Pit, it’s highly amusing and I love listening to it, I even bought it off iTunes, but it’s The Cranberries, cast off by generation Y or whatever they’re gonna label us, who really understand the dream like quality of finding a soulmate.
So blogging: it’s entertaining and fun, and there is most certainly a place for it in the future of writing, if we want to blog well, we’ve got to become more about the art than us. If we want to create true art that is. That is the beauty of the blog; there is no censorship. A thousand endings, you mean everything to me. You are a cinema, a Hollywood treasure, love you just the way you are . Benny Benassi is a guy who knows where it’s at. Most people think he’s kinda grimy, and that his music is weird and he’s pervy. That song’s got truth though; I sing along ALWAYS and I never do that. I’d even do it in the library on the quiet floor. But it’s a work of art that speaks to me. It’s on repeat now. Like that picture of Dorian Gray, it’s timeless. Dorian should never exist as he does in the portrait, or as he does in real life. It’s not our blogs that need to be interesting, or even our stories enthralling, our images picturesque. What we need is to remember that we are authors channeling art, it can’t be forced, and I don’t think it’s invented. And now I’m pulling your disguise up. Are you free or you tied up?
In light of NaNoWriMo (we’re not even gonna mention my word count at this point. Does anyone else feel like that should be a taboo question? It’s like, “How much do you weigh today?”), I am taking the time to stop and remind myself that my writing is my art. Like nature, it has no parameters: maybe I meet my goal, maybe I don’t. What’s more important to me, is that I create a complete piece. Maybe I won’t be done on December 1, but I will at some point. It will come to me, because I am meant to write it. I don’t know what it is, or when it will become complete. November is a difficult month for me. Here in The Mitten, the tiny iota of sunshine that reaches us all but disappears once Daylight Savings Times starts, and I die a little everyday. I love vitamin D and I feel so deprived in November; plus all of the profs decide to pile on their major assignments now, so that stresses me to the max. And with trying to do National Novel Writing Month this year, when I’ve never written anything creative in my life, I really just want to crawl into bed and not get up until Christmas morning.
thesourceus 