My blog

Style is the answer to everything. A fresh way to approach a dull or dangerous thing. To do a dull thing with style is preferable to doing a dangerous thing without style. To do a dangerous thing with style, is what I call art. Bullfighting can be an art. Boxing can be an art. Loving can be an art. Opening a can of sardines can be an art. Not many have style. Not many can keep style. I have seen dogs with more style than men. Although not many dogs have style. Cats have it with abundance. When Hemingway put his brains to the wall with a shotgun, that was style. For sometimes people give you style. Joan of Arc had style. John the Baptist. Jesus. Socrates. Caesar. García Lorca. I have met men in jail with style. I have met more men in jail with style than men out of jail. Style is a difference, a way of doing, a way of being done. Six herons standing quietly in a pool of water, or you, walking out of the bathroom without seeing me. —Charles Bukowski

Add a comment

I think too much: One giant balloon

Friday, Jan 7, 2011 9:43AM / Standard Entry

Why is it that my thoughts are always unfinished and my mind jumps from place to place? I’m constantly up in the air no matter how much I really want to be grounded. If you look through my Finder, I have countless unfinished essays, letters, notes, Moleskin journal entries, and blog posts all orphaned and waiting for my return. They are like thoughts that are just floating in the air, in balloons either waiting to be popped or set free. My room is filled with balloons and I feel smothered by them right now.

A therapist would say that it’s because I am running from thoughts and emotions and it’s probably true. (Everything is about that.) I never let them mature because I can foresee its pain even in its infancy.

Perhaps, it’s all just one giant balloon.