drmstream[writing]

He returned to the other point of view — oppo­site to that of his love and of his jeal­ousy, to which he resorted at times by a sort of men­tal equity, and in order to make allowance for dif­fer­ent even­tu­al­i­ties — from which he tried to form a fresh judg­ment of Odette, based on the […]

I flew from Atlanta to Los Ange­les last night. I couldn’t get com­fort­able in my seat. There was noth­ing to eat. After a few hours I was rest­less, drop­ping in and out of a bad nap. Thank god I wasn’t tak­ing the Main­line route — 15–1/2 hours and I would have been a puddle.

In the small New Eng­land town that I grew up in, the ceme­tery was the ful­crum point of mem­ory. Our cer­e­monies were cen­tered there. The parade route ran up the main street, past the hard­ware store and the lawyer’s office, around the town square and to the memo­r­ial at the grave­yard. Pen­nants would snap at […]

Costi­gan ordered another round. The girl leaned into the bar. Mag­nus lis­tened to her ask ques­tions about their work. She was young and pretty, relaxed with the two men. Costi­gan began to touch her, a palm against the back or a fin­ger at her wrist, in a gen­tle sequence that Mag­nus had wit­nessed before. The […]

Every now and then a clear har­monic cry gave new sug­ges­tions of a tune that would some­day be the only tune in the world and would raise men’s souls to joy.“ – Jack Ker­ouac, On the Road The music flows in and out of your senses as eas­ily as the sweat raises your skin. What you […]

Hey…you, writ­ing away, the mind is unfet­tered, run­ning off, skew­ing this and that and here it comes, some­thing in your fin­gers, some­thing kinetic, some­thing phys­i­cal it’s right there, Hey, just keep writ­ing and get into it, let it loosen and tell the story.  That will be what life has got for you. Con­trolled, craft, real, that’s […]

Art can­not shake off its mag­i­cal ante­cedants, nor can it be sealed off from tech­no­log­i­cal inno­va­tion. The Dialec­tic of Enlight­en­ment, Horkheimer & Adorno

To make art, we have to let go of our con­cep­tions, tram­ple our struc­tures, release our soul. When we have laid it all out, we’ll under­stand our­selves, the essence of our sound. This takes courage. This great photo is one of many musi­cian pho­tos by Juan Car­los Hernandez.

I love the order­li­ness of this page of man­u­script from Jorge Luis Borges. And I love this line from Con­jec­tural Poem. In the mir­ror of this night I find The unex­pected mien of my eter­nity. Both the man­u­script and the line are sur­prises. They are filled with con­trol, cer­tain about their pur­pose and uncon­strained by convention.

Hot Springs, Arkansas Nov. 21 — 1915 Dear papa, I am going to write you again to see if you got my let­ter if you did why is it you do not write it will be two weeks Tues­day since I wrote you.  Papa my birth­day is two months from Mon­day which is the 22nd and […]