Creativity

A Series of Shitstorms

A Series of Shitstorms

Life is a shitstorm, in which art is our only umbrella. ~Mario Vargas Llosa Life is a series of shitstorms punctuated by short seasons of calm, the ebbs between the onrush of shit flushed into serenity and smelly chaos. Most of my shitstorms have been self-induced, the result of poor choices, boorish behaviors, impulsive actions […]

Forging Ahead

Forging Ahead

Nostalgia is cowardice. ~Mario Vargas Llosa It is easier to dwell on the familiar past than address the unknown future. There are few mysteries with the past, the remembrance of problems filed smooth by time until they all but disappear and the past is a sanitized fantasy of rainbows and unicorns, a nostalgia bearing little […]

Funktionslust or Funktion Slut?

Funktionslust or Funktion Slut?

Funktionslust (German): The love of doing something merely for the sake of doing it, not simply because it’s likely to work. ~Seth Godin There are mornings my ritual writing ablutions feel perfunctory, a routine duty hastily performed to get it out of the way, to bolster my shaking claim at being a real writer and […]

Is Art Really Necessary?

Is Art Really Necessary?

If I had to give an opinion, I’d say they were paintings that weren’t really necessary. ~Haruki Murakami Is any art necessary? Objectively, it is pigment splashed on canvas, words inked on parchment, steel hammered into three-dimensional objects occupying formerly empty space. Completely unnecessary. Aesthetically, intellectually it may be pleasing, awe-inspiring to a subset of […]

The Rainbow Within

The Rainbow Within

The light expressed naked yearning when projected outside. Focused inward, it strove for completion. ~Haruki Murakami Light shines into me and reflects out through me. Is it the same light? No. It is bent, reshaped, refracted into new colors. Similar to a prism breaking light into fundamental colors but different in that the filters modify […]

Thursday: The Morning Before Morning

Thursday: The Morning Before Morning

It’s Thursday. It could be any Thursday in the half-year after bitter colds and before snows. They all start identical. My serene morning with the head bobbing pigeons scouring the ground for human detritus, one man’s garbage another’s treasure, sparrows flitting with the speed of slow lightning strikes alight on my table and stare into […]

Abandon All Hope?

Abandon All Hope?

One hundred virgins. Two hundred virgins. Somewhere between? All laying before me. Stacked one atop the other. Face to face. Back to back. Face to back. Naked all. My questions. How do I uniquely deflower each? How do I spread my goo until each is mine and no two are signatured duplicates?

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