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subscribeAs Pure as a Pharisee (on Lithium)
Friday, August 24
The other day I wanted to write something about opening doors, closing doors, walking down pathways that were never meant to be taken and making choices with some sort of conviction that the ground under our feet is our ground. I sent messages to friends and ex-lovers hoping to capture them all in a web of security like I was a loving spider in need. What is a life without intimacy other than a prison? What happens when all is gone, even loneliness? What is beyond emptiness? What will make a man of me? Opening doors or closing them? And why must everything be perfect, even the punctuation? The stars in the sky are romantic and cause bleeding hearts but so do guitar strings, and the thump and sizzle of falling stars against the brilliant sky can kill.
Serenity kills (the spirit of an artist). A closed door can prevent a writer from choosing a theme. Writing, in the absence of a theme, is masturbatory. Can that be right? I do not know; the word fits the sentence and I am too lazy, with too many closed doors, to complete the metaphor.
I need to smoke a flower of ash and drink my coffee with cream if I am going to make progress. The devil told me so (and all of our modern heroes would have agreed). There is only one way to allow this to happen and there are many compromising opportunities of which to be wary. It is one thing to be charming and yet another to walk the narrow path. I want 'I Am' on my side and words to stop fumbling out of me. I want the purple on the horizon to knock me down following the cascading shockwave of the reformation. Prayers in the evening, prayers in the morning, prayers in the afternoon; the only way. I loved you when we sat in the intense heat of the silent film houses. I loved you in black. I dreampt of you in white. I loved you on the dawn of Color and Sound when we tried to cross the diamond sea.
Some things happen just to show us who we are. Insoluble chemistry. Yes, these are just phrases that I string together (of course) and I (never) censor myself to make sure the (true) meaning comes through. It should come clean in the wash. Brilliance should be translucent. These are arguments I have with myself when I really need to speak to my lawyer. He is grounded in the way that I am not. My brother, my friend, to battle we go (or perhaps to the bar, instead). To really fight the battle is to lose the way. And to lose the war is to regain oneself.
Serenity kills (the spirit of an artist). A closed door can prevent a writer from choosing a theme. Writing, in the absence of a theme, is masturbatory. Can that be right? I do not know; the word fits the sentence and I am too lazy, with too many closed doors, to complete the metaphor.
I need to smoke a flower of ash and drink my coffee with cream if I am going to make progress. The devil told me so (and all of our modern heroes would have agreed). There is only one way to allow this to happen and there are many compromising opportunities of which to be wary. It is one thing to be charming and yet another to walk the narrow path. I want 'I Am' on my side and words to stop fumbling out of me. I want the purple on the horizon to knock me down following the cascading shockwave of the reformation. Prayers in the evening, prayers in the morning, prayers in the afternoon; the only way. I loved you when we sat in the intense heat of the silent film houses. I loved you in black. I dreampt of you in white. I loved you on the dawn of Color and Sound when we tried to cross the diamond sea.
Some things happen just to show us who we are. Insoluble chemistry. Yes, these are just phrases that I string together (of course) and I (never) censor myself to make sure the (true) meaning comes through. It should come clean in the wash. Brilliance should be translucent. These are arguments I have with myself when I really need to speak to my lawyer. He is grounded in the way that I am not. My brother, my friend, to battle we go (or perhaps to the bar, instead). To really fight the battle is to lose the way. And to lose the war is to regain oneself.
