Weblog 20
April 5, 2006~ 6:00am
A few days have gone by here with no entries. Like a lot of things in life, this weblogging business has its ebb and flow I suppose. Finished Cormac McCarthy's "No Country For Old Men"- a pithy, dark selection of McCarthy's terse, brilliant prose, most of it dialogue of the spare, John Wayne sort that reverberates so often with a wisdom not spoken aloud. He makes me think.
Unlike some who might say this is an unforgivingly violent book with a bloody desert of despair inside it, I find the soul and character of the main character of the sheriff redemptive enough. He's the olive branch and the Mt. Ararat the book makes its way toward and where it finally comes to rest- and I found I could rest quite peacefully there with him, no regrets. McCarthy is in his 70's now, and when we lose him, we'll lose an irreplaceable voice of reason and hope despite the outer- and inner- blackness.
I still post at the 'ghost board'. More tempests over nonsense, but I really like the spare, white space. Always have. So I'll continue, even with no responses- or despite the ugly ones when they come.
Last week April's Blue House came out. I guess that's what preoccupied me more than anything else, and distracted me away from this mustard yellow space. I'm pleased with it. Seventeen writers in a wonderful array of distinct voices. That online ezine always buoys me up. Like my lungs can take tankfuls of air that allow me to stay under a long time and look at the coral and the exotic fish, deep into the quiet where I hear myself thinking and it all makes sense. So grateful to those who send me submissions. Always.
Weather here is see-sawing between spring and misery. Can't wait for the lilacs- that once a year sweetness is a purple burst of grace. Forsythia is dotting the landscape, but it has no aroma. I need the fragrance to fill my head- olfactory confirmation that the world is not merely rotting away, but puts out perfume that is worth waiting for.
April 6, 2006~ 6:30pm
The last two days, I have been completely enraptured, searching the internet for reproductions of the engravings of artist, Gustave Doré. This man was prolific in his output. He illustrated the Bible, The Divine Comedy, Don Quixote, The Raven, Grimm's Fairy Tales, and all with a romantic flair for the grotesque.
This is the picture that got me started yesterday- probably the most frightening illustration of a children's story I've ever seen. (Or perhaps it just coalesces everything that frightens me- and always did, about closing my eyes at night.) This one's an illustration of Tom Thumb....lol....but if anyone knows what part of the story this is referring to, kindly email me. I'm clueless.
See? Imagine having that opened on your lap, reading to the kiddies at night. God Lord!- but my heaven- how powerful. Doré was living and practicing his art in my favortie time- the latter half of the nineteenth century. All my life I've loved the art of that era, and Doré is just another example. I can get lost in googling artists and museums. It's one of the greatest gifts of the internet age-- instant access to so much that makes the head spin and the soul un-kink.
Going back now for some more....
***
(Return To Weekly Archives)
A few days have gone by here with no entries. Like a lot of things in life, this weblogging business has its ebb and flow I suppose. Finished Cormac McCarthy's "No Country For Old Men"- a pithy, dark selection of McCarthy's terse, brilliant prose, most of it dialogue of the spare, John Wayne sort that reverberates so often with a wisdom not spoken aloud. He makes me think.
Unlike some who might say this is an unforgivingly violent book with a bloody desert of despair inside it, I find the soul and character of the main character of the sheriff redemptive enough. He's the olive branch and the Mt. Ararat the book makes its way toward and where it finally comes to rest- and I found I could rest quite peacefully there with him, no regrets. McCarthy is in his 70's now, and when we lose him, we'll lose an irreplaceable voice of reason and hope despite the outer- and inner- blackness.
I still post at the 'ghost board'. More tempests over nonsense, but I really like the spare, white space. Always have. So I'll continue, even with no responses- or despite the ugly ones when they come.
Last week April's Blue House came out. I guess that's what preoccupied me more than anything else, and distracted me away from this mustard yellow space. I'm pleased with it. Seventeen writers in a wonderful array of distinct voices. That online ezine always buoys me up. Like my lungs can take tankfuls of air that allow me to stay under a long time and look at the coral and the exotic fish, deep into the quiet where I hear myself thinking and it all makes sense. So grateful to those who send me submissions. Always.
Weather here is see-sawing between spring and misery. Can't wait for the lilacs- that once a year sweetness is a purple burst of grace. Forsythia is dotting the landscape, but it has no aroma. I need the fragrance to fill my head- olfactory confirmation that the world is not merely rotting away, but puts out perfume that is worth waiting for.
April 6, 2006~ 6:30pm
The last two days, I have been completely enraptured, searching the internet for reproductions of the engravings of artist, Gustave Doré. This man was prolific in his output. He illustrated the Bible, The Divine Comedy, Don Quixote, The Raven, Grimm's Fairy Tales, and all with a romantic flair for the grotesque.
This is the picture that got me started yesterday- probably the most frightening illustration of a children's story I've ever seen. (Or perhaps it just coalesces everything that frightens me- and always did, about closing my eyes at night.) This one's an illustration of Tom Thumb....lol....but if anyone knows what part of the story this is referring to, kindly email me. I'm clueless.
See? Imagine having that opened on your lap, reading to the kiddies at night. God Lord!- but my heaven- how powerful. Doré was living and practicing his art in my favortie time- the latter half of the nineteenth century. All my life I've loved the art of that era, and Doré is just another example. I can get lost in googling artists and museums. It's one of the greatest gifts of the internet age-- instant access to so much that makes the head spin and the soul un-kink.
Going back now for some more....
(Return To Weekly Archives)
...
. or pay a visit to my Audio site to hear things
I've written- 
Some are just 'jotters', thoughts as they fly- going
nowhere but where they are. If you stop and read a few~ or post a
few~ thanks for
the perusal. Last of all, if you've a hankering for rants and raging,
try making a stop at my other blog- 
