CB

This is Charles Bukowski

The image on the right is the original artwork. The one on the left is my sketch. What surprised me during the sketch was that it was easier to get over that feeling of having a critic looking at everything I did. I could just draw after a little practice and in the sketch is reflected my confidence. There's a man in that picture. It might not be the same C. Bukowski that is imaged on the right, but there is a man there. He's got personality and character. He's alive. That's all I wanted. 

My only goal with this- and really my only goal with anything I do is to get over that critic. The only thing I want to do is pour myself into the action of doing it. My goal is to get to the point where I can give up my attachment to the result of my actions. I want to give freely to the world. This takes practice. You've got to build your skill with anything. I've practiced writing long enough that I can construct a story, but the critic get's involved too often and makes everything too heady.

And there it is! That fucking Charles B! I'm not talking about the drawing, but the feeling of bringing the man to paper. That's the reward. The thing that holds me back more than anything right now is the idea that if I try to draw right now, I'll make something that looks like shit. I'll "Fail"- whatever that means. Hah. Afraid to practice because it won't be perfect on the first go. Sometimes I feel like handing over controls to that man on the page. Let him speak for a while without even trying to censor what comes out. 

God gives man the gift of free will- or does he merely allow it?

I feel like I'm allowing myself to be that kind of wildness. That strange twisted monster that makes beautiful works out of nature and clay. I feel like the man I drew on the page is a part of myself that's finding expression. I want to relinquish control to that feeling- that wildness. Ok, let's try something. I'm going to let go temporarily here and see what kind of things bust out. This should be fun.

Whoa, that is way too much freedom. Make some promises first so I know I can trust myself- that I'll follow thru. 

Well that was fun. I couldn't really record that in the written word, but I got an image of myself at a younger age. Before I cared what people thought- when I could roll around in the grass and not care- or walk up to a group of people and strike up conversation. I'm getting back to that place but it takes time. Art helps. 

Let it Speak

"Let the wind speak / That is paradise" -Ezra Pound

I imagine the wind pushing the grain
To forge the font.
Causing fields to bend and fold.
The feeling of a brush head
Against my face while it
Paints a mountain-
Those small dimples
And imperfections
Of paper.
Ink rolling over rocks.
And clouds made from
Stray and jittering bristles.
A collaborative of
Brushes guided
By a single steady hand.
And us,
Painted men,
Becoming Painters.
Ourselves, overcome
With impulse, driven
By as many
Little gusts
As grains
On the beach.
And in this way,
The world finds color.
A drop in the bucket
Of prismatic
Imperminance.
Drifting like the light bent
Through water, and dancing
On the floor.
As much distorted
From the fish
As the nature of
The thing. Colors.
What wonder.

Zen Koan

Quaking earth reflecting Thundering skies
Skraggling bolts hitting Skraggling trees
When what you want most is to be scared
If, at the very least, feeling again.
Estranged father begets self,
With the quicksilver Touch and Go,
Emulsed with time, that Autocatalytic fear
Quickening, quickening, Stuttering as
Much as speaking softly, as if this message
Could be broken like glass.

Strength. Again and again tested.

Something to Listen to

For later

http://www.lettersofnote.com/2012/10/help-from-heinlein.html

http://www.lettersofnote.com/2012/10/people-simply-empty-out.html

http://www.lettersofnote.com/2012/10/the-beauty-of-words.html

Ouroboros, The First to Divide by Zero

I'm paraphrasing, but Grant Venerable, the name of greatness if ever there was one, once said that the measure of a man's excellence was his ability to confront paradox. When you look for solace and find bewilderment- to get that real sense of what's up, to get a solid dose of that wretchedness.
I've got a deep relationship with that feeling. One moment, under the weight of being self-critical to the point of manic depression, to becoming that weight. That unbelievable, undefinable weight. It's the simultaneous feeling of being a pimple and the greasy preteen squeezing it. The zip-pop-wow of being transported between that flimsy, wretched thing to that incalculably solid feeling.
A titan amongst men. That indistinguishable "it." Beyond being the product of the universe, a thing to be acted upon; not even relating to the body. You are the strength that acts upon the body. Not the motion itself, but the motion of motion. The wetness of water. The strength in strength. Action of action.
Beyond even that. Yes, I've got a deep relationship with that feeling.

Magnum Opus

The great work.

A Response to Loneliness

Today at lunch I was feeling depressed again- an overflow from yesterday, not quite resolved. I was looking around, eating alone, checking out all these groups of people seemingly having a good time. I wondered why I wasn't in one of those groups. What kind of group would I even want to be involved with? I couldn't pick one out of the twelve or so tables that I'd eagerly want to engage with.

I've always been very social- but not very... tied? to a single group over another. As far back as I can remember I've been the intermediary, the entertainer, the mediator, the lone star. Sort of a drifter- sort of like Hermes (aka Mercury) from the Greek and Roman mythologies. Even while walking inside a group of people I deeply cared about, I always felt separate. I'd walk dead center amongst a group of people, and yet starkly by myself. It was not a choice I made, it was just always how I was- how I have been- how I am. Never once developing that kind of "I'm part of this group" mentality. I've had many, many social families, but it never became "I am from X, not Y or Z." Does that make sense? It was always "X, Y, Z- and everything else!" for me. So, sitting there in the middle of an empty table, I felt at peace because I was not with a particular group. I was alone and yet I was having lunch with the entire room. I started to feel better about my situation because, like everyone else, I was following what came natural to me. Nothing is worse than trying to fit into a place you don't- and nothing better than being where you're supposed to be.

Letting my mind wander from my social situation to the lifestyle I'd like to lead, some qualities occurred to me that I'd like to bring to my professional life.

(1) I'd like to travel- to have a home base to come to (and get grounded in) but I'd love the opportunity to travel the globe and get paid for it. I want to travel lightly. I don't want to have to bring a suitcase full of crap- I want to be able to carry everything I need. I want to live simply- vibrantly, with such greatness. I want to be able to create everything I need- to use the tools I've got.

(2) I want to meet with influential and knowledgeable people- leaders in their particular fields. I want to meet and deal with a variety of people from a multitude of backgrounds on a DAILY basis. Also, I want to have some kind of context to relate to them with- some kind of purpose or shared project.

(3) I want to write. Lots. Often and with great enthusiasm. I want to become excellent at my craft. I want to be published. I want my work to be relevant.

(4) I want to be autonomous. I want the freedom to make my own decisions on what projects I work on and what I say about them. I want the personal liberty to go where I want and create what I want. I want to be well paid for that.

(5) I want my work to have practical application- to effect how things are done, instead of some kind of funky abstract that five academics read- I want to have my work easily accessible and, more importantly, I want to create things that are useful. I want to be useful. I want to solve real problems- not abstract ones.

(6) I want to be able to support those who matter to me. I want to have a solid and developed social/professional family that I can rely on. I want to set down some roots in a global tree- to have a wide network of people. I want to be able to adapt my tools to contextual problems wherever I go. I want to solve and deal with a variety of problems. I want to be the vanguard, the heavyweight- someone to initiate programs and develop them. I want to be able to go places I've never been and have tools that will serve me.

(7) I want to work long hours- all day if I can, doing what I love. I want going to work to be a joyful experience because that's the place I rather be- what I would rather be doing more than anything else. I want to start that soon.

Yes, yes, I want to start that soon. Yes please. As soon as I can. Let me do THAT. Whatever that is. However I do that- let me do that.

Fear

I need help

I know I've alienated most of my friends but for the love of god, I need someone to tell me that I matter to them. I'm manically depressed and I don't know how to ask for help other than posting these half-drunk blogs and hoping that someone will take the initiative.
It pains me every day to know that I've chased so many of my friends out of my life. I isolate myself, I'm flaky, and I keep strange hours, but -
I really need help.
I don't care if it's a facebook message, a simple text or a quick call. I just need to know that you care. Please. I'm begging you.
I know I post those long winded posts about bullshit philosophy- I frequently hide behind big words and complex messages. It's my attempt at something real. I'm freaking out right now because of how alone I feel. I don't feel like I've got a leg to stand on and...
It would-
Please.
Just drop me a line

the bob and weave

"After the first glass, you see things as you wish they were.
After the second, you see things as they are not.
Finally, you see things as they really are,
and that is the most horrible thing in the world."
-Oscar Wilde on absinthe
But is it not also the greatest? To unite those poles of the spectrum between horror and ecstatic bliss? To force those magnetic points together until your body quakes- and finally that stillness. Silence that's louder than cannon fire. That eminent point of all genius. Origin of all motion. That which catches even quicksilver.

Ohh~ to have a relationship with that feeling.

Knows to the grind

The essay I wrote got some feedback from my teacher. Her style is to record her voice instead of writing on paper- I got a 30 second clip saying she didn't understand anything and gave me a 60%.

Well.

Shit.

That's a hard crack for the ego. You know? The last paper- I mean the very last paper I wrote (for a different class) got the best score of all time. "On the verge of being graduate level" and then I get this. Thirty seconds and 60%.

I know the essay I turned in was crap this time around. I mean, I wasn't happy with it- I had gone to see three writing tutors and each gave me drastically different responses. I didn't get any two people who said the same thing as far as what direction I should take. It was a mess. I went bold. I tackled a subject that was pretty damn large for six hundred words.

At the same time, it was a topic central to what my teacher was trying to talk about- and she didn't understand any of it. Not a piece. I was hoping for something. At least one iddy biddy glimmer of recognition.

Nothing.

My frustration isn't that I got a shit grade- I'm mad because there wasn't a single person who could give me constructive feedback. But you know what? That shit works two ways.

I couldn't make sense out of what anyone else had said- and you know what? That means I have to work harder to write things that people can access easily. Return to simplicity. Work on the basics. Hash out the small stuff. Aight. Can do. Let's boogy.

Fuck it. Scrap the paper. I'll take my 60%. I'll talk to the teacher about it, sure, but not to fight. Chill. Let's roll onto the next one. Kick it into gear. Let's go. Just for the love of god, get me writing soon. Last time she gave us something like two months to write six hundred words, which is great if you have time to expand on a subject and contract it. I think it's a mistake to go for brevity right off the bat without really drawing something out. It's too easy to fuck up on a single word and drive the whole thing to bat shit. There's no room for elbows.

Do it live.

De Generate

Neurotic, disconnected, full of shame and painfully self aware. The feeling of being cheated- of being incapable. The desire to be somewhere other than where I am. It's a shit day.
Resentful of beautiful women and people who are able to put up with all this shit on a daily basis- simultaneously I want to destroy them. For being who they are, for being what they are. For promoting such pathetic conditions, I want to destroy them. Being angry at myself for being so willfully ignorant and wanting to hide from my daily condition. Yet facing it seems equally horrible.
Shit. I wouldn't want to read this.
The fuck do I want to say.

My situation may be shit at present, but it's also excellent. I could no more hope for strength without gravity than excellence without facing this horrible muck.

As for being a dumbshit spaz, I say fuck you. I won't tolerate all this self destructive horseshit. I won't degrade myself like this. I'll promote self-compassion. And while I may remain a neurotic fuck, I'll be one that doesn't run from my situation. Here's to bravery in the syphilitic pit which is modern education. Here's to honesty in a culture who's ridden with self-doubt. Here's to compassion, knee deep in the pig pen. Here's to unrequited self love, to unconditional creativity and absolute victory against all enemies.

I may be a degenerate mongoloid without friends, but my future is brighter than ever. What brilliant colors! What absolute beauty! What amazing grace has taken over this opium den! With rapture, I turn filth into gold and the most devout sinner into a beautiful gem of this world, clothed in pure white.

I accept who I am and the conditions I live in- more than that- I love the daily challenge. I am in ecstatic bliss at the struggles that stick so loyally. What a blessing to live in this place. What true and perennial love has sent me these trials in hopes that I would face them? Whatever force put me in this place- here amongst the shit- I thank it. Thank you for the trust to face these issues. Thank you for the chance to practice this divine alchemy. Thank you for the courage, the patience, the loving compassion and the daily rage I sit in that focuses my eyes firmly upon this goal.

Thank you for placing me in the path of destruction. Thank you for the myriad weapons that pierce my breast daily. Thank you for heartbreak, and difficulty, and my irreverence that has served to teach me what's important.

A thousand blessings to every force that tries to destroy me. I live in peace because of them.