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Why is almost every robust healthy boy with a robust healthy soul in him, at some time or other crazy to go to sea? Why upon your first voyage as a passenger, did you yourself feel such a mystical vibration, when first told that you and your ship were now out of sight of land? Why did the old Persians hold the sea holy? Why did the Greeks give it a separate deity, and own brother of Jove? Surely all this is not without meaning. And still deeper the meaning of that story of Narcissus, who because he could not grasp the tormenting, mild image he saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was drowned. But that same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. It is the image of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all.

— Herman Melville. Moby Dick. Chapter 1: Loomings

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  1. October 8, 2011

    Photo post

    My original sketch of the tattoo referenced in the previous post. After reading the last page of Irving’s Until I Find You I sat at my desk and drew this.

    My original sketch of the tattoo referenced in the previous post. After reading the last page of Irving’s Until I Find You I sat at my desk and drew this.

  2. October 8, 2011

    Text post

    Southernness, death by literature and why I have a tattoo

    Posted to Gotham Writing Class discussion Sat 10/8/11 at 12:37PM

    I also am late to the discussion, but want to add my thoughts.

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  3. October 6, 2011

    Quote post

    Well, did you trust your noble dreams
    And gentle expectations to the mercy of the night?
    The night will always win
    The night has darkness on its side.

    — Elbow. The Night Will Always Win.

  4. October 6, 2011

    Text post

    Why this is here

    I like to think I’m interesting, even though I know I am supposed to be interested instead. I like to write my book in my head. Titles. Plots. Dialogues. I screw up stuff a lot. I make wrong decisions. I think I’m nice and basically good, but the older I become the more I realize I may not be. I lose focus. I commit and give up.  I also succeed, persevere, survive and sometimes thrive. I underestimate myself. I drive too fast. I don’t laugh enough. Sometimes when asked by therapists if I still experience joy, I think, Wow, am I supposed to? Do other people?  What the hell does that look like?  On dark days I think of my Uncle P—— in summer of 2010 saying “the mind is a swamp” with the most distant look I’ve ever seen in his glacier blue eyes. It sure is, P——. You can’t control it, you can’t get out, you’re always in there covered in mud and running from alligators, scared of rednecks, bitten by mosquitoes, smelling sulphur; and when the dawn comes, you try to forget where you are, but you’re still in the fucking swamp. The night will always win.

  5. September 30, 2011

    Quote post

    Why is almost every robust healthy boy with a robust healthy soul in him, at some time or other crazy to go to sea? Why upon your first voyage as a passenger, did you yourself feel such a mystical vibration, when first told that you and your ship were now out of sight of land? Why did the old Persians hold the sea holy? Why did the Greeks give it a separate deity, and own brother of Jove? Surely all this is not without meaning. And still deeper the meaning of that story of Narcissus, who because he could not grasp the tormenting, mild image he saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was drowned. But that same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. It is the image of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all.

    — Herman Melville.  Moby Dick.  Chapter 1: Loomings

  6. September 30, 2011

    Photo post

    In the red, looking away from time. In my mind I have always been on a treacherous journey, across oceans, meeting heroes and villains, forever telling myself it will be great fodder for the novel. It will all be okay when I write it down. What novel?  When is it coming?  Time to turn around and face the clock. The book doesn’t just come, it has to be made by me.

    In the red, looking away from time. In my mind I have always been on a treacherous journey, across oceans, meeting heroes and villains, forever telling myself it will be great fodder for the novel. It will all be okay when I write it down. What novel?  When is it coming?  Time to turn around and face the clock. The book doesn’t just come, it has to be made by me.

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