“I feel my failure intensely as if it were a vital organ the gods grew from the side of my head. You can’t cover it with a hat and I no longer can sleep on that side it’s so tender. I wasn’t quite faithful enough to carry this sort of weight up the mountain. When I took my vows at nineteen I had no idea that gods were so merciless. Fear makes for good servants and bravery is fraudulent. When I awoke I wasn’t awake enough.” ~ Jim Harrison
Although Jimmy boy was quite a rotter in his lifetime, wasn’t he. Not only that, even to his fans he became a bit of a dirty-old man. Too sad that, that so many men—with or without true artistic credentials—become such lechers when in the presence of the beautiful younger ones. Why do they consider that their value? Their right? Perhaps he is indeed right when he says he wasn’t awake enough.
And he wrote beautiful prose, published some fine books.
“Never, never be afraid to do what’s right, especially if the well-being of a person or animal is at stake. Society’s punishments are small compared to the wounds we inflict on our soul when we look the other way.”
― Martin Luther King Jr.
And here we are, once again. On the edge of change—change—death—pain—endings. The world, the earth on the edge of destruction.
And so it was that I assumed the role of traitor to self and beliefs. Not to indoctrination, not to religion, but to my own sense of morals, that which is Right. Soul Right. Ah, how much simpler life would be without sex.
And how much easier it is to assume the role of Social Protester for that which is Right. Indeed Right. Not at all that of smudged revolutions or in the mud of confusion. But Soul Right. That which cannot be disputed or rationalized. Knowing that I must stand up, I must protest, I must no longer hide behind the silence of belief. True belief, True right, those things belong to action. Nothing else is acceptable.
Sometimes compromise doesn’t bring ease of being, but with shame it brings strength. The strength to do what is right.
writing voice is the deepest possible reflection of who you are. The
job of your voice is not to seduce or flatter or make well-shaped
sentences. In your voice, your readers should be able to hear the
contents of your mind, your heart, your soul.” — Meg Rosoff
The times are too difficult right now to offer any comments other than those of revolutionaries.
When you know I’m dead Don’t pronounce my name Because he would stop Death and rest. When you know I’m dead Say strange syllables Pronunciation Flower, bee, Lagrima, bread, storm. Don’t let your lips Find my ten letters. I’m sleepy I loved, I have reached silence. (Che Guevara)
And so it is with me, the same with the ten letters.
That seems mainly true of all great or fine—or even just purposeful pursuits—yes? Sometimes I know the next note, sometimes not. When not there’s a flatness to it, a lack of energy. But we mere mortals must plod along.