“’I did that,’ says my memory. ‘I can’t have done that,’ says my pride, and remains adamant. Finally memory gives way.” - Nietzsche.
The interpreter in the left brain strings experiences into narratives. A novelist in our heads. A novelist called memory ceaselessly redrafting the short story we call “My Life.”
Writing and telling a story is all about detail and realising the significance of the insignificant.
"Writing a book is an adventure. To begin with, it is a toy and an amusement; then it becomes a mistress, and then it becomes a master, and then a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster, and fling him out to the public." - Goethe
...In both Irish and Welsh myth and saga, the art of foretelling the future is an essential part of the story. More often then not, it is to escape their fate, prophesied by the Druid, that leads the protagonists into adventures which inevitably lead them to the fate they seek to avoid.
...At one point, the narrator irreverently criticizes the author and the book, saying: "You've slapped together travel notes, moralistic ramblings, feelings, notes, jottings, untheoretical discussions, unfable-like fables, copied out some folk songs, added some legend- like nonsense of your own, and are calling it fiction!" - Soul Mountain by Gao
"I want to know one thing. What is color?" - Picasso
Mother's SHARP TONGUE
Inside Moleskine notes. Hiding under the bed. Slick. No answer. Locked door. Suspicious? More like stupid idiot. Pick up the remains. Tell me a story.
They hope for a lot. They get a little. She disappears. The tease does her job. Just enough desire and temporary distraction - stay down! - no getting down - just enough stimulation as the skinny dude hears her speak - now it's ok.
She's stacked everything on the floor at the end of the bed. This was a dream her uncle told her in the village. "Daughter, you need to be careful in the city. People will cheat you. They are clever. Don't let emotions control you - be reasonable - cold as ice when it comes to business. If you sleep with strangers, know where the exit is."
His scary story imagined a monster under the bed - whispering secrets to her before she fell fall feel asleep.
You have to love a stranger's stupidity, noise, sad face, confusion and chaos. Did he mention irony and entertainment value? So much for a fundamental shift in consciousness. Dying of boredom. Buried with boredom's memory.
Throw the sunset away with syntax. Treat silence with elegant love, respect and dignity.
The orange yellow moon rose.
Is a rose a moon?
How does the moon rise into a black voice of emptiness?
Into endless pyramids of joy with the beauty of simplicity?
Where do butterflies go at night?
Mandalay, Burma
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