drmstream[writing]

We have a tra­di­tion on our anniver­sary to com­mem­o­rate the occa­sion by each writ­ing an entry in a spe­cial jour­nal. Here is what T wrote. I share it because it moved me and because it offers an ele­gant metaphor for love. Here we are on our fifth anniver­sary, where tra­di­tion tells us the sym­bol for the […]

How do you know that? Have you been there to see? And if you had been there to see, and had seen none, that would not prove that there were none … And no one has a right to say that no water babies exist till they have seen no water babies exist­ing, which is […]

Love of beauty is Taste. The cre­ation of beauty is Art. Ralph Waldo Emer­son There’s a pur­pose to this great thing that the Inter­net has spawned beyond the cre­ation of com­merce engines, mar­ket­ing cam­paigns and wealth beyond our wildest imag­i­na­tion. The world has become too large, genius too widely dis­trib­uted, sto­ries too impor­tant and creativity […]

The 1920’s are char­ac­ter­ized as a decade of pros­per­ity. Though ini­tially eco­nomic in nature, this pros­per­ity dif­fused into all other are­nas of Amer­i­can life. It was the age of the flap­per, of speakeasies, and of triv­ial spend­ing. It was an era that threat­ened the image of the Vic­to­rian woman — — timid, con­ser­v­a­tive and polite […]

We drove from Gran­ite Springs to Stam­ford in the mid­dle of the night. You were born in the midst of drama and fan­fare. I held you in the hos­pi­tal room, fell in love with you and have loved you ever since. I had to go home to walk McDou­gal. I drove back in the middle […]

I want to assure you with all earnest­ness that no writ­ing is a waste of time — no cre­ative work where the feel­ings, the imag­i­na­tion, the intel­li­gence must work. With every sen­tence you write, you have learned some­thing. It has done you good. It has stretched your under­stand­ing. I know that. Even if I knew […]

I must have dozed for a few min­utes.  A dream rushed by the thresh­old of my con­scious­ness, mak­ing a gen­tle noise.  Death was in the dream.  He drove a black Cadil­lac loaded with flow­ers.  When I woke up, the cig­a­rette was start­ing to burn my fin­gers.  A thin man in a gray flan­nel shirt was […]

A writer is some­one who spends years patiently try­ing to dis­cover the sec­ond being inside him, and the world that makes him who he is: when I speak of writ­ing, what comes first to my mind is not a novel, a poem, or lit­er­ary tra­di­tion, it is a per­son who shuts him­self up in a […]

As dusk falls, the lights on the rides illu­mi­nate and silence seeps into the day. The waves are low. The moon sits high in the sky, aloof but com­fort­able. The night gains momen­tum on the board­walk. You sit on the beach and plunge your hands deep in the sand. The sur­face is cool. Just below, […]

Theo, in the liv­ing room, evening light, soft time, muted gold, an eye wash of sun­light and inner life, the big photo album bal­anced gen­tly on his knees. Blonde hair across his face, hid­ing the curios­ity in his eye, match­ing gazes with the young woman in the pic­ture, head crowned in braids, skin fair and […]