With my window ajar, the breeze from the outside keeps blowing in and leaves me slightly chilly. But it's a good kind of cold, the kind every once in awhile I miss from back East. But then I realize I think I'm more in love with the memory of the Cold Breeze than the actual frostbitten feeling you get against your cheeks as you seek shelter somewhere - anywhere - when you're months deep in winter or even late fall. Although, it is sorta nice. I know Im taking this metaphor too far but these days I'd rather shed it and just be. I think it's impossible for me to write an entry that is entirely objectional, as much as I'd like to. Spell check says "objectional" isn't a word; is it?
For now I'm just gonna use words, I've gotten a good reaction to the pictures and words entries but for now, I'm gonna use just words.
I have this tendency to avoid things, to get right up the edge of the cliff then make a hard right, or wrong really. This sort of thing seems to happen a lot. (See Above.)
Right now, Hank Williams is playing on my tv. There's this option on the computer where you can burn a cd as a "data cd" and it'll play in your dvd player, which I am taking full advantage of. I burned all these songs from the past year or so. I am realizing most of these songs as one unit reflect an entire era. Mp3's, 2006. but really with wings of 2005 and 2007 on either side. It's similar to reading the old journal entires I wrote on my trip to Peru, sometimes you gotta walk back down memory lane to see who you are Now more clearly.
I've also been reading a bunch,
*Junkie - which led me to
*The Letters of William S Burroughs 1945 - 1959 and
*With William Burroughs A report from the Bunker

*Wuthering Heights (book on tape- unabridged) which led me to
*a plethera of sex books but also was influenced by M gettin a job at Good Vibrations which is this sextoy shop.

The Letters of William Burroughs came at just the right time too because I've been slowly writing a few letters to friends, very slowly, but just the act is enough to make me interested and inspired again. I feel like my tastes and processes are reciprocal. And in turn, both of these interests have influenced my music and songs. New lyrics now pop up in my brain which are much closer to what I'm thinking these days than the sugar coated easy words of safe love songs.
In 'With William Burroughs', we are let in on different tape recorded conversations with Burroughs and other guest interviewees, perfect reading for me who's attention span is that of a disinterested student. Susan Sontag even pops up in one of the discussions and her point is really provoking. She talks about how love is one of the least motivating influences in art and creating. How writing (or creating) out of anger rage and dread is faster and in some ways more pure. I was really excited how someone else thought these kind of things too (I had taken the idea to the physical realm, but still), and/or that they were thought out loud. My favorite quote concept from the discussion: Love takes third place.
It's true.
In the same book, we also are given admission into a discussion in which Burroughs says, "All past is fiction." It's a simple concept but important in my eyes. "We think of the past as being something that has just happened, right? Therefore, it is fact; but nothing could be further from the truth." Facts are just editorial decisions subject to our moods and minutes. This coincides with another concept I remember from high school history classes, "History is written by the victors." Those who win, write the past. I was even reminded of a quote in the movie JFK, "[What is] past is prologue."
Reading old episodes from when I was 24 gives me a window to who I was, and who I've become. Id like a few other people to read these episodes and it may be the influence, but as I read them I felt as if I was reading a precursor to a known destination - end result. Which made it even sadder, sort of like the Star Wars pre-quals. Everyone knows he's Darth V, and we're just sitting there watching it happen. Its actually presented as entertainment! But we all know; it's gonna get really bad. But we read on because we wanna see, we're curious how it came to be - hopefully in an effort to divert our's from the same path, but also and maybe more truly for a deeper darker reason. So too is the case in Wuthering Heights. At the beginning of the book, we see the outcome of of the entire story. The Ending is right there, it's there as soon as Lockwood enters Wuthering Heights and sees Cathy, Heathcliff, Hareton, and Joseph in their dark estate of affairs. Heathcliff has won, but won What really?, and they're all pawns in his game that is now over.
But as in Star Wars, it is not over. It doesn't end with Heathcliff triumphant because Cathy and Hareton, as does Luke, choose a different path. All is not regulated to cyclical destinies. There is the option for movement, we have been allowed this. We have been born with brains to grow. I try to water and feed my brain as much as I can so it does not become a static thing, so it does not become a solid entity without room to grow.
More later;