Author: M

☽⋆. 。 a cello out of tune resonates with M . 。．

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

December 26 (typed at desk)・ Our city is snow fallen. By nightfall Christmas Day I walked on white land. Cool air of first snows. Pretty lights...strung upon few houses and gardens. All felt special. But I was most possessed by a small one story house... 

Paint a cream that is near but not wholly vanish by snow. Dim lights of hypnotic blue, sapphire purple, ruby and delicious citrine line along curves of a footpath leading to the front door. Smoke absent from the chimney but still I imagine wood fire kindling within and without end. Petite orange bulbs glow modestly on the branches of a singular leafless tree on the lawn which slope slightly downward toward the entrance. Perfect evergreens tower close. Lights too drape just upon their lower wings. 

The wind froze the night and the cold gradually took my body. However the frost bit any fragility away and I was electrified.

Musing: Start When You Start
My stomach is better today. There’s nothing wrong with starting tomorrow by the way. It took me a long time to understand being present but I understand it now. However it really is not about starting when, finishing when. We’re not failures because we started later than this instant. Nor did we fail if we quit in the middle of it or if we never started. I will often wait weeks, months, years to start. I will often quit during or even before. There are some very important things I don’t get to for months or years. There are some very important resignations in between it all. But the truth is I have begun before starting because I prepare. In my preparation, I come to reason why. My work stands by for when I’m ready, because it’s my work. And I know myself and when I’m ready. It’s about a feeling of resolve. The feeling of completion is not material.

Musing: Summer
We might seem like we have one dog but in fact we have 3. My brother’s Summer. My Summer. And Summer’s Summer. And then I came to the conclusion that at any time we have 3 selves too. The public’s, our own, and God’s.

Musing: What Kind of Writer?
My own kind of narrative. Something special and original I can live with and live in. Conventional atmosphere has no right air to feed this very special type, I really suffocate. So I cultivate my own liveable sphere. Mix my own dirt, make my own planet. But I still need the water of Mother Earth, she’s very generous in that way, I’m thankful. I respect all professionals, because they make a mere job a true profession, a craft. I can’t do what they do but I want to be that kind of pro.

Musing: Nothing Is Original
Nothing is original? No. Everything is original. Even the replicate, even the imitation. It’s an original imitation. The copy of the original copy. Original intention happens regardless. However that says nothing about whether the production ends up as value or hoax. That has to do with moral discipline, ethics. People are confusing principles of creation with personal expression. Principles are unchanging and eternal. Expression is always experimental and original.