I was grumpy today, unsatisfied, so E.R. and I walked down Melrose intending to read at a Starbucks or something. Melrose always makes me think of tattoo parlors so I said, “Let’s go get my ear pierced” and we did. I don’t have any tattoos and I don’t even have my ear lobes pierced. I’ve been thinking about getting my cartilage pierced off and on, though not actively. But that’s exactly what I ended up doing today.
It’s great, it really is. It’s my new favorite thing. I’ve only shown it to about three people and all of them have said, “I’m surprised you didn’t have that before. It’s very you.”
It’s very great, is what it is.
This is what I sound like when I’m satisfied.
After watching and taking notes on John Cleese’s lecture on creativity last night, I completed a poem. It came quickly, through a state of flow. It was due to exactly what Cleese cites — I opened myself up, and I gave myself enough time and space to become open.
The poem is different than anything I’ve ever written. I’m aware I say this after completing most of my poems; they really don’t tend to be consistent. I’m not sure if that’s a fault in the development of my voice or a result of openly allowing form to align with content.
Either way, this poem exists, and I’m happy for that.
So this type of work process is something I need to replicate. It seems to me that I need a starting-point in my openness. Whether this is reading someone else’s poem, watching a lecture like this one, whatever. The majority of my writing has come from thought that arises from other work. I need to begin each creative session with something like this.
e-painted with the brush I got from the lovely people at Sensu.
balanced my check book
watched the lecture below (john cleese on creativity)
took four pages of notes from his lecture
smoked 1/4 of a cigarette (for the first time in months)
looked for apartments
e-painted some more (it’s enjoyable)
stared out my window &/while listened to my neighbor snore &/while relished the fact that I get to move out of this place with the thin walls
panicked about this that and the other thing
decided to stay up all night, and then got tired
- Oliver: Remember that fight scene with Clouseau and Cato in "The Return of the Pink Panther," when you were laughing super hard?
- Bruno: I wasn't laughing. I was guffawing.
The window by my bed looks out into downtown Los Angeles — a straight shot eastward. This morning I gasped myself awake, with the feeling of a flashlight being turned on an inch from my nose.
I was on my stomach, head turned toward the window, and a shard of light had abruptly broken past the skyscrapers. Let’s talk plain. The sun was rising, and the first bits of exposed rays hit me in the damn face.
In a sleepy state, all I can remember thinking was “shoot, that’s pretty.” It seemed to be moving, in flux, more like fire than light. In fact, it looked like someone was melting pink-gold — it pulsed as it accepted the state of liquid.
I smiled myself back to sleep.
For anyone who lives in LA, you should know that the sunrise was gorgeous this morning.