Sunday, March 16, 2008

Hello Very Good Friend,

I write letter speaking in Russian accent. You probably not hear Russian accent
when reading, so try reading outloud with Russian accent.
It will help with cadence of sentence and choice of word. Lack of pluralization too.

I am like Beethoven now. Not composer;
melancholy. Dating frustrating woman, always fighting.
Never know what fights are about - she yell in Russian
I speak only in Russian accent.
This is called language barrier. Beethoven was depressed,
writing 5th symphony among others.
Depressed for much of his life, but angry-depressed
writing 5th, which does not surprise.
It is very angry depressed symphony.
Bum bum bum buuuummmm, bumbumbum buuuummmmm.
I read about this in book, which cited letters B. wrote
during this time (1802-1810 I think). I would look it up but
not sure where to find book at moment, too lazy to search.
Still writing in Russian accent though. Counts for something yes?

Having use of melancholy though.
It is better than german Sehnsucht,
which is “deep longing” That is intense wanting of something far away.
That is Rilke (german poet died 1947[8]) – very good poet.
German good language for sehnsucht.
Beethoven was German too I think, but I guessing he used melancholy not sehnsucht.
Using melancholy – sorry, got sidetracked – is good.
Very powerful emotion: reveals beauty, understanding.
Ignorance bliss; knowledge sorrow, but from sorrow we learn compassion.
This makes good art. Sorry, slipping into
French accent for a bit. Apologies for my offense, I do not mean to give such. Now British.

Art is good. Writing,
practicing guitar and drums. Friend says I am
Renaissance Man. Sounds right. Working on books.
Actual books. Trying to figure out how to put them together,
build them. Is complicated. A play also.
Good paring of East/West. Possibly add themes from Les Miserable.
Friend also tells me
I have weird ideas (considering letter written in Russian accent, very true).

Otherwise good. Computer died. Poor. Good not best word,
outlook improving is better. Idea that night
lets us appreciate day, rain
appreciate sun, sadness joy. I think you know
Silver Lining. Idea is – melancholy as
“great illuminator of hope”. Outlook hopeful.
Coffee helps.
Also computer dead = no internet = no movie trailers,
blogs, websites, porn = no Big Distractions. Helps with writing.

Helps with attention span too. Up to 12 minutes now,
better than national average! (joke in Russian accent hard to convey).
Work is same. Now at parties
1 in 100 people know what I am talking about; no one understand job I do.
Still waiting for raise though. Still looking for silver lining (maybe: hunger = weight loss?).

Spring very busy. Lots of friends coming to visit.
Hope to have passport soon to visit friend in Europe. Probably end of summer.
We call ourselves Vecais – old man. Veces – old men. He, I, and another friend are The Veces. Been calling ourselves by this for years. Stupid fun, but we laugh. It is way to remind ourselves to enjoy life. This is good time of year to remember such. More daylight, more world to enjoy. Good time for walks and running.

Good time to spend writing in park. Lots of people to look at
inspirational. Can appreciate spring, summer, fall because of winter.
Low temperature – low energy; warming, hot – lots of energy.
Learn to surf this summer. Promise making to self.

In Buddhism idea of
Impermanence =
everything that is, isn’t;
everything that isn’t, is.

Another way to look at silver lining.
Is good to write letter.
Writing letters more now that computer has died.
Have to type them. Trying to not
edit when
typing, keep true to
mistakes. More like letter.

Cheers (is British sign-off, unsure of russian accent sign-off),
The -.

Friday, March 14, 2008

There is this pull, of coarse strands
against the aging skin, the skin that was seeming young
feeling old, the oldness that Matt felt, that made against him,
worked forever toward the days yet to fall from the calendar,
the legendary and the licked.

Smarter yet, bruising,
dolorious, picking at the hairs
twined among the carpet

A day of confluence no? A coming together day. Gravity, terminal velocity coming together. Head on collision coming together. Lots of time spent in the appreciation of sorrow, the good sorrow. The good way being sorrow's path to compassion, the movement away from hollow, blissful ignorance. Unearned, undeserved happiness with no connection to anything outside of itself. The sorrow that lets us know what happiness is, know what bliss and joy are.

The swelling tide of days, hours, morning and nights that lie behind this confluence and its consideration/recognition are, well, standard I guess. Girls, the one I don't want and the one I do, a good job that pays shitty, shitty job options that pay better. Missing opportunities from a lack of resources, and the sudden awareness of all that is grandly wrong coming from I do not know where. Maybe just a cultural sea change, a reaction to a world and a nation where placebos for mood enhancing prescription medications are shown to be nearly as effective in most cases than the little funny shaped pills (I have no idea what xanax or prozac look like, I assume) yet the happy capsules are still proscribed more and more each day, statistically above the clinical rate of depression. There are depressed people, I know some, but there are a lot of people I know who are just miserable fucks and too lazy to admit it to themselves. I've got my harsh on.

For me, its a lesson that has been a long time coming. Meditation daily on death, Ghost Dog Way of the Samurai shit. Basically I am turning into a sappy fucker of a Vecais. Sweet runny goop in trees, makes syrup. Probably make myself a whole mess of pancakes in a couple of hours. Suns coming up soon. Against Happiness.

Vecais is latvian for old man, or so my latvian friend tells me, but he's a fucker so can I trust him? But that doesn't change the fact these idea-asteroids, these big grand understanding-of-the-world fucking concepts keep slamming together. Fucking comic books have it in spades. Read the 10th trade of Powers. At first I didn't get the whole people standing up and talking about shit, ranting, in unfunny Bill Hicks territory, but I appreciated the hell out of it and it works ultimately. Anytime you can reference the Hicks is a good time to reference. Man was a saint. Disagree and we'll have words. But these people, these little creations in a comic book; how different are we from them after all. We have mom to kiss our bottom and tell us that its special; they have Bendis. They are taking to task on the stage the utter fuck-all that is the world, life. You have the protagonist, brooding and angry and doing his job as a cop well and good everyday, close to breaking though, and he comes through.

Shit, look at Superman. No, not that one, look at the one that is the sole survivor of a long dead race. Look at the one who is only here because every other person like him is dead. Stranger in a Strange Land. Lathe of Heaven. Be Invisble. Find the Bright Lady. Maybe you're the Dream King.

Its about the world stupid! Its how fucked it all is, how you and me and everyone we know is going to die, and it'll probably hurt along the way. Vonnegut knew this. Blake fucking new. Rilke, Hemingway, Eliot fucking new it, knew it was going to lick its tongue into the corners of the evening, curl once about the house and fall asleep. Its the ending to the Lorax. We've chopped down all those truffula trees, but there is an acorn. There is a seed. A girl I knew very well, knew in every way I think 2 people can know each other, she tattooed that word on her wrist. You have to make those ones important. That is the place you look whenever you look at your fist. Ball it up, think about what you want to hit, what you want to destroy. Consider it, and then see what is there. The underside of the wrist, and she had UNLESS permanent across there. Fuck if she didn't know 5 years ago what I am just figuring out now. But that is the skinny bitch of all: someday we will hopefully all be sad, weepy motherfuckers, the all-singing, all dancing crap of the world. Hopefully we will be able to remember this for more than five minutes at a time.

Hopefully we can all see that beauty is but the onset of terror, it's cold in winters and hot in the summers, that between god and the devil passion is. High and low form each other, tall and short fulfill, lo there do I see thy rue and dire needs, lo there do I see the line of my people back to the beginning... and so on. Guess that's that. Sun's comin up, gotta get some cakes on the griddle.