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 [...]
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 [...]
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 [...]
How can I possibly articulate the flame inside me? Can it ever relate to the world outside? And if so, is it that I cannot help but take a step, yet will never make a correct one? excerpted from the drmstream Facebook page I could have asked this question once. My voice would have cracked, [...]
Her name was Arline. She was my father’s mother. She died in 1949 when my father was 16. We knew very little about her growing up. In the early 1980′s, after my grandfather died, a letter arrived at the house from my father’s aunt Marie who was six years younger than her sister. My parents [...]
I write like James Joyce I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing! It’s good for my ego, of course, but utterly meaningless. If I write well, I write like myself.
She’s young here, not yet 20, and her future isn’t written in her face. She’s experienced sadness. Her father died when she was young and her family was reduced to a mean existence, the froth and frivolity of a town life erased by the shadows of tenement rooms. But she’s smart, pretty and determined. She’ll [...]
I hope it is true that a man can die and yet not only live in others but give them life, and not only life, but that great consciousness of life.” — Jack Kerouac The first time that I read On the Road, it took days for the roar to subside. The world Kerouac painted [...]