The phrase “Un poète doit laisser des traces de son passage, non des preuves. Seules les traces font rêver” (A poet must leave traces of his passage, not proof. Only traces are dreaming) come to mind with respect the reason why I put pen onto paper. Every day I wake up early with a shattering dream of some sort. I usually can’t remember the dream, but it leaves me depressed, and it takes an hour or so for me to shake that depression out of my being. It is somewhat like using a rag to soak up liquid and then wringing the cloth to do away with the moisture. Usually by my first cup of coffee, I ‘m free of morbid thoughts and then continue with my day.
For the past year, I have been working on a literary journal of young writers called “The Artistic Age.” Being an editor is difficult, because I tend to be a writer that thinks about his work first, and everything else comes second. I was approached by friends to co-edit this journal, but now thinking, this was not a good idea. For one thing, I’m much older, and I think age is a significant factor in writing. Of course there is the cliche of having experience to draw from, but in my case, as I get older, I feel more stupid. Instead of things becoming clearer, it becomes more muddy-like. My memory is sharp, but I can see I choose to re-edit the facts in my life, and rely on my dreams more and more. Even though my dreams are faint at best, I know my true identity speaks in a deep sleep. Once I wake up, it is like emerging from the deep waters to air, and I have the memory of fighting for air. Therefore I have to refine my life with my dreams to be whole.
There have always been a wall around me to distance myself from those who want to get close to me. I need the space around me so I can fill it with my inner-thoughts. Each time I throw the dice, to find out where I am heading, opens up another territory for me to explore. Therefore that is the reason why I write. For me, the boundaries must be established, and therefore I just want to write narratives that are only on one page. What I find the least interesting part of a narrative is the order of beginning, middle and the end. To be honest I don’t like to have endings in my stories, because it sets me in a world that is restricted and I need, at the very least, the ability to be seen beyond the wall of my own making.
As a child I was fascinated with the television series “Bat Masterson, ” due to the fact it was a western, yet the way the actor Gene Barry played him, he was a man out of his time. The Dandy aspect also appealed to me, because he looked so superficial against his surroundings. Over the years, I have built my character up to be sort of dream-like version of Masterson. Even though clearly, I can see myself that there is a sizable distance between Bat and the writer of this journal - nevertheless it shows up in my dreams, which as I mentioned causes a certain amount of disappointment and dread. I can only hope that what I will continually run to the border of dream and life, and therefore, and hopefully, can master the two territories that contain yours truly.
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1 comment:
nice from char to bat…
i've always been drawn to the trappings of the dandy… the walking stick…the well heeled shoe..etc...as Baudelaire perhaps a little flamboyantly put “as one who elevates æsthetics to a living religion.”..hah
had a musician/artisan grandfather always nattily attired in a well cut suit of some sort, but with eccentric flourishes such as converse purple hi-tops, a pearl cigarette holder or a low slung velvet fedora…the little extras..hah
last great dandy..in the more traditional victorian sense, i used to see was the great quentin crisp…in late days, alone and forlorn in some lower eastside diner..but always with that extra bit of flair..foppish but with the abilty to cut with a glance or single word
cheers
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