In The Light

Sometimes when you find yourself thirty-six years old and bound with family; the kids screaming, the car packed with arguments, and every minute of the day weighted down by the disillusionment of bedlam, you close your eyes and for a few seconds from behind your sunglasses as you maneuver the mini-van down the highway on the way home from brunch, you see yourself at twenty-two in San Francisco: you are wild and free and swaying in and out of bars, with random women; the nights are endless and the days quiet; you highlight your way through a litany of manuscripts that justify your behavior. You see yourself at twenty-three in New Orleans: passed out on Bourbon Street watching the sun come up on the Mississippi. Twenty-four and New York City: snow in the Village, Paris, Maputo, Bangkok, Chicago, you see yourself all over the world. You see yourself. You see yourself. You see yourself…
You may entertain, however briefly, that something has gone wrong. You may feel for a few seconds that perhaps you have made some errant choices. You may lose yourself in erroneous reminiscing. Confuse the perfect reality with imprecise fantasy. If this happens to you:

Look deeply into your childrens’ eyes and tell them you love them. Watch as their faces light up and they squirm with the knowledge that they are truly loved. Watch as they say I love you too daddy. Squeeze them until they scream and lose yourself in their laughter. Have meaningful conversations after the yelling has stopped and feed them ice cream. Tell them you are proud of them, constantly. Forget about who you were and focus on who you are. Who they are, who you will both become together as a family. Sing in the car and be silly. Make them dinner and wash their hair. Dry them off and kiss them good night. Read them stories. Blow gently into their faces and kiss them on the lips, on the stomach, and on the cheeks. Point out the light from the sky as it bounces of the trees as often as you can. Teach them vocabulary and metaphors. Point out the giant snail and the injustice of the dog tied up next-door and the bird in the cage. Remind them that birds belong in rainforests and not cages.  Remind them that being polite is the first step to compassion and compassion leads to peace. Be patient with them, even when they drive you crazy. Brush their teeth and hair with love, even when they scream and fight you every step of the way. Remember to stop and kiss your wife too and rejoice in the family you have created from scratch.

Sometimes when you find yourself thirty-six years old and bound with family, sit back in the quiet of the night after they have all gone to bed, play some tender songs and spill your thoughts on an empty page and blow them out into the universe. You will feel better about the whole affair. You will remember that when you were twenty-whatever and free, you were also lost and miserable. Running from darkness to darkness, you banged your head into every wall that stood in your way. You are here now, in the light, moving forward with the most beautiful family in the world.




Please leave a little poem of your family moments in the comment section.

Tristan Cloplet: Autonomy For An Artist

Beneath all my rage and vitriol, just underneath the cynicism and sarcasm, if you keep digging you will find that at my core I believe in human beings. I believe in our goodness, our compassion, and our desire to help each other live simple, happy lives. The rest, all the stuff you hear about on the news is ignorance and fear, sculpted to represent a reality we are forced to swallow.

Sometimes, on my good days, I am able to look past the shallowness of our species and see us for what we are- a tribe of social primates who enjoy each other’s company who want to connect with each other.It is very auspicious when I am confronted by an email like the one below on such a day:

Hi there

My name is Tristan Clopet and I wrote to you one month ago after checking out your site. I really enjoyed reading some of your articles and reviews. I’m a singer-songwriter based in Miami and New York. I am just following up to inform you about an EP I just released--"Purple"--I think that you and your readers would rather enjoy it.

‘Purple’ has gotten great reviews from sites such as Bloginity and Consequence of Sound

We’re offering it for whatever people would want to pay for it, and I know time is scarce, but if you could give it a review, I’d love to read it. Even if it’s negative, I really respect your taste, and would be interested to hear what you think.

 You can listen to the EP for free on my website, but if you’d like a physical copy of the cd or a t-shirt, shoot me a size and a mailing address and I’ll be sure to get one out to you.

A few links to check out:

Homepage, Download “Purple”, MySpace, YouTube, Twitter

There are so many things right, not only with this email, but also with a world that allows us to be able to create, connect, and share on this level. We all like to complain about the commercialization of our lives. I am prone to rant about how corporations and the market have tainted every ounce of authenticity and art human beings are able to meekly carve out of the lifeless void left when every aspect of our lives are commodifed to be sold and traded, and so it is comforting to know that people still make music for the sake of connection. It is also reassuring to know that without the help of a record company or a PR firm, a young musician can make music, create his own brand, then work his ass off to find like minded people with whom to share it.

I am not sure if Tristan will ever be featured on MTV Cribs (Is that show even on anymore? Is MTV?) but through the use of tools like Twitter, Facebook, and Youtube, he is able to create a life centered on his music. He can record, distribute, and tour without the need for a record company.

This autonomy for artist is no small feat. Today musicians, writers, photographers need only to crave out a niche on the web and bust their asses spreading the word. In a perfect world the right about of talent and tenacity should get you an audience.

I myself have talent and tenacity in small quantities, but apparently enough to garner the attention of Mr. Clopet, and I am honored to do my part in passing on his name and story. That is how the new web works, you see; we band together and share what we like, what we find, not for any monetary reasons, or even for fame and notoriety. We share what we find because we are social primates desperately trying to find others like us, so we can connect. And every time we do, it just proves the lifeless corporate drones wrong. It proves that human beings are not greedy, violent vessels waiting to be filled with hatred and fear.

We are artists. We are human and we share.

Thanks Tristan! While your music is not exactly what I am listening to these days, I applaud your work and your style. I hope this review does justice to your work, and that it helps us stay in touch. I would love to follow your career and see where it goes. I hope I have captured how impressed I am by the way you have chosen to dedicate your life to your music and the manner I which you are pursuing your journey.

You are an inspiration. You have reminded me that  I need to cultivate my talent more intensely and crank up the tenacity a bit and join you in promoting my vision on my terms!

My review:

You can hear two distinct sounds on Tristan’s latest EP Purple and the five songs are split between this dialectic. The first voice is that of a gentle balladeer. A pop singer with a musicians ability to handle a guitar. The songs are layered with rich undulating riffs and a tender voice that sounds like Chris Martin from Coldplay. The songs are upbeat and light, even though the lyrics tend to lurk in a darker place.

Love and a Question has got to be my favorite on the EP. The beautiful tender intro lifts like a sunrise on a relaxed day.

Living mine in a beautiful haze
Drowning in her love drunk ways
Breathing in.
OK

So Alive is another song offering sound advice:

Look in the mirror my dear
That's with whom you need to start your next affair

His songs are self reflective and yearning to grow. The narrator in every song is wide eyed and looking for answers, but never loses hope.

The other face of Tristan Cloplet is much darker. Funkier. Songs like Proximity Bomb, Superficiality is a Sin, Ethereal Evidence are seeped in funky bass lines, Jimi Hendrix style intros, and Middle Eastern strings. The result is a hodge podge of sounds and influences. Anthony Kedis is the obvious hero, but one can also get a taste of bands like 311. There is a low-key vibe to the songs, but not melodic enough like the others to hold my attention. I was left wanting the rapping sections to enter into a melody or a chorus that I could sway to, but none ever came.

Tristan Cloplet is a young artist with a lot of passion. He is on a journey to find himself and his sound. Let’s hope that he finds the balance. His pop ballands have potential to “hit it big” but more importantly with some maturity he has the opportunity to write some great songs. I would love to see the songs find the comfortable sounds of Jack Johnson and Matt Costa. Perhaps Tristan needs a surf trip and some time spent in the ocean.

The songs are a bit stiff and need to unwind. But don’t take my word for it, give his EP a listen for yourself. And now please do your part and share this story...

I am myself, like you somehow...

A simple rippling D chord trickles form the silence unraveling a scene drenched in afternoon rain. A hint of sun entangled in the sun shines on a majestic baritone voice drifting down an endless river. Careening, cascading, carrying all the pent up, discarded emotional detritus from the depths of our dysfunction, and releasing it into the vastness of an ocean that maybe or may not exist beyond the horizon.  At times barely moving, at others awash in white water, the song Release by Pearl Jam is the indictment through absolution at once. It is resolution through rebirth. It is salvation, recovery, and acceptance. It is victory though surrender. It is potency through vulnerability. It is the period at the end of the sentence that is Ten. After the tumultuous ride of the album, Release is the deliverance. 

But more than that it is a song about making amends, in particular with a father, and more exact than that, I see it as a song of atonement with my father. Throughout my life I have harbored a lot of resentment and toxic emotions about my dad. I have aired some of those thoughts here on my blog, and I may have inadvertently, and sometimes more consciously expressed my animosity to him directly. Well, I want to use this time, this place to say I am sorry.

I want to fold onto myself, inhale every once of oxygen made available to me and bellow from the bottom of my soul for the whole world to hear:

Oh, dear dad, can you see me now
I am myself, like you somehow
I'll ride the wave, where it takes meeeeeeeee...
I'll hold the pain, release me...

Dear Dad,

I no longer blame you for anything in my life. Instead I want to thank you. I see every part of you in the best parts of me. It sometimes feels like I see the world through our shared mind. I have spent so much time focusing on why or how I was broken, carrying around guilt and looking for fault, that I have forgotten the strength and passion you have given me.

I love you and this song is for you.

Jabiz

As always the past:



and the present:

I Won't Be Taken

There is no doubt that there is a pattern developing when we stop and reflect on these first eight songs from Ten, the debut album from Pearl Jam:

Abused martyred narrator overcomes pain and suffering to lead other troubled souls to salvation and peace.

Nearly every song is born in the murky aches of shame, but through enduring power of defiance and an electric guitar they elevate themselves to anthems of survival, beyond endurance, but authentic change, growth, evolution. These songs are the timeless soundtrack of every broken childhood across the world. The perpetrators of the destruction may differ, but the victim is clear to all of us who have ever stared at the lingering effects of cruelty in the mirror for the duration of our lives.

The first time I heard these songs I was just finishing high school. I had finally met a group of friends who were like brothers to me. I had begin given the opportunity to finally open up and share most of the pain I had been carrying my entire life. Music had always been an escape, but not until Ten by Pearl Jam did I realize that music could be born from within me and work itself outwards. The songs were not written about someone like me, they were written for me by me. I understood them on such a visceral level, that even twenty years later I can relive the times alone in my room, in the darkness, with the headphones screaming into the pillow.

These songs were about release. They allowed me to shed the shame and guilt I had carried for so long and walk with my face blood into the garden...

images by sunshinecity, Jef Harris, and Will Montague

Garden itself is probably the most immature of these debut confessions. The lyrics are bare-boned, basic, and adolescent at best. Not much more that the scribbling of an angst ridden teenager in a journal of unripe life observations. What the song lacks in depth, however, it makes up for with raw emotional vehemence. The chorus is textbook Vedder. While the dirge like entry, could be the poetry of any teenager, the chorus shows scope and vision. It is as if he knew that someday he would hear his words echoed back to him by full stadiums.

After all is done
We're still alone
I won't be taken
Yet I'll go...with my hands bound
I will walk...with my face blood
I will walk...with my shadow flag
Into your garden
Garden of stone

I don't show...
I don't share...
I don't need
What you have to give...

Furthermore, musically it is amazing to see how the song has evolved. The guitar in this version from the nineties is raw and messy. True to their “grunge” roots the sound is muddled and dirty. Vedder doing his typical apathetic front man character doesn’t do the already weak lyrics any favors…..( I do love however how at the end he says, I would tell you more if I knew how.)



Flash forward a few years and notice how rich the guitar parts have become. As if the mature arrangement wasn’t enough, Vedder’s vocals now show a trace of tenderness and peace. Finally McCready's guitar solo extenuates his growth as a guitar player. It's as if the grunge sound has been reshaped to sound bluesy ala Stevie Ray Vaughn.



Garden is probably the most underplayed song on the album, because it is not one of the timeless Pearl Jam songs, but it is important to understand it as a foundation of what would come; songs like Given To Fly were sown in The Garden.

Ain't Gonna Be Any Middle Anymore

image by tallmariah

A few months ago, I decided to try and document my connection to every Pearl Jam song recorded. I got seven songs into the project and lost focus when I hit Porch. Seeing that it is one of my favorite PJ songs, I really wanted to do it justice. I spent countless hours brainstorming various videos or projects that would really reflect the powerful effect the song has had on my life. Blank. I couldn’t think of anything. The result was the death of my project.

So today, when the song came on in the car as we were driving to the store, I made a vow to just sit at my computer, play the song as loud as necessary and finally squeeze some juice from it.

The song plays in a gait that cannot be described. It is moving for sure-galloping, storming, bulldozing- maybe there isn’t a word for it. I see cylinders and pistons. I see a train with legs. It has the power of a machine but is made of flesh. The bass and drums sculpt a body of organic steel.

You can feel the song flex its muscles when it changes tempo and slows down to a jam. It was meant to be played live and for ten minutes at least. I have seen Pearl Jam deconstruct this song in a variety different ways. Stone Gossard and Mike McCready on any give night can give life to a plethora of different beasts. Their guitars like expert warriors battle and dance across the sonic stage.

I cannot count the times, I have slammed by body against the darkness, against the wall, against my own pain, against other bodies, against the shear power of hope, against anything that stood in its way. I cannot count the times, I have slammed by body against pure ugliness of the world and screamed my lungs outs. Starting slowly at the end of the guitar solo and picking up speed. Chanting with Vedder like a possessed Shaman. Waiting for release and ascension. Never again, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah…..This is how I pray. This song is a piece of my religion.

As always I love to show where the song started...



and what it has become:

There Is Something...

I miss living in cities. After three years in Doha and now Jakarta, I realize that I love living in cities. The time I spent in NYC and San Francisco was some of the best time of my life. Walking through Singapore tonight I realized that there is a pulse in a city that helps me stay connected and alive. A pulse I never felt in Doha and am having a hard time finding in Jakarta.

This poem was inspired by my walk home down Orchard Road in Singapore today. As I walked home with my family, I heard the story of Danny Santos' photographs in everything I saw:

This photo is by Danny Santos from his site Shooting Strangers. All Rights Reserved

There is something about walking the streets of a city at early evening- the golden light oozes from the sides of buildings like melting honey, searing and sticky, dripping from every angle it touches; piercing shards of blond light burning saffron refract from the windows like psychedelic graph paper, a geometry of weightless luminosity carves a parade of polynomials onto every surface with laser precision, leaving the avenues and tress warm and spent.

There is something about walking the streets of a city at early evening- the forgetfulness of shame and mistakes are cleansed away by the raw optimism of pride. Although we know that everything in the bowels of this conurbation will end up in a land fill and stink of waste, every item of clothing, designer handbag, chocolate éclair or camera battery. Every stroller, high heeled shoe, or trumpet. Every cigarette butt, bottle of champagne, or latest Nike shoe. Every iPad, flier or sex toy will end up as waste, we feel good about the last few moments of dying sunlight.

There is something about walking the streets of a city at early evening- swarms of contented citizens stroll and shuffle, saunter and meander the streets, arm-in-arm, in love and alone, on their way home, to a show, to a dark corner to lose themselves in the eyes of another. With frenzied determination and headphoned ears, they whisper and text into their gadgets, making plans, checking for the hopeful chance of not spending another night alone.

To look up at a half moon as the sun begins to fade over any city in the world is to feel alive and connected. We nod to each other as various mobs intersect, rearrange and merge with each other- we did this. We created this symphony of human triumph. For every terrible injustice, we ignore responsibility for, walking the streets of any city at early evening reminds us that we are human, and this collective existential understanding can be, when appreciated under the right light, a beautiful thing.

Termite Parade

Joshua Mohr’s second novel, Termite Parade, can best be summarized by the scraps of its own prose. The regurgitated chunks of text when spread out on a blank page are all one needs to understand the painful themes he has so tactfully woven into the perfectly paced plot. Ignoring any traces of sophomore novel angst, Mohr unabashedly allows the reader to wallow in the “vibrancy of creation” while he holds up “a mirror to humankind, so the animals could see themselves.”

The idea of humans as animals is the backbone of Mohr’s tale. He forces the reader into the cages of three characters who “reveal every contortion of their flimsy spirits,” in everything they do and say. He unhurriedly creates a tapestry of shame, guilt, and regret. But rather than pity these lost souls who are trapped in their self-inflicted “dilapidated zoo,” and floundering in their “arrogant betrayals,” Mohr forces us to see ourselves in their malice and indignity.

Mohr’s characters and their abusive existences act as a reminder to us all that the human spirit, while masquerading as noble and benevolent is really just, “seconds from crumbling away.”

Early in the novel, Mohr states, “maybe there is no difference between evolution and devolution as long as it leads to change.” He then spends the remainder of the book deconstructing his three characters down to their most base emotions, and he painfully unveils the animal in us all. By allowing us to relate to their self-loathing, Mohr helps us unhurriedly peel back the duplicity we all hide behind to survive. “What’s the difference between lying to yourself and being redeemed?” He asks. Mohr dares us to admit that we don’t all constantly lie to ourselves.

While Termite Parade is a book that forces you to acknowledge the “neglected, hoarse conscience,” within us all, ultimately it is a novel of hope. Mohr may expose the hypocrisy of human happiness, but at the same time he alleges that perhaps when broken down to our most animal instincts we can, help the unveiled animal get “it’s voice back and sing.”

This novel is an honest and tender testimony to what it means to be human in the face of a world trapped in it’s own apathy and tedium. With every sentence carefully crafted, and every word chosen for immediate impact, it is littered with intense visceral scenes. You may be able to read it in one sitting, but this is a novel that will stay with you every time you look in a mirror and lie to yourself.

Lonely Is Okay

Lonely is a freedom that breaths easy and weightless and lonely is healing if you make it.

If you are happy in your head than lonely is okay.

A lot of random content passes through my various online feeds. It is really a miracle I can digest even half of it. Between my RSS feed, Facebook, and Twitter I am constantly keeping my head above water as I swim through the rapids of the Internet. My survival throughout this deluge of information says nothing of the content I produce myself.

It is no surprise that I often ignore blog posts, youtube videos, or news articles, but as every savvy net user knows, certain things keep popping back up. First you see it on Twitter, then a friend posts in Facebook, or someone blogs about it.

The video below one of those things that I ignored several times, until today I finally dedicated the four minutes to watch it. Twice. Please find a quiet place, clear your schedule for the next four minutes, sit back and enjoy a beautiful piece of art. My comments to follow.




The idea that the Internet is a dangerous and unsavory place has been on my mind lately. I wrote about it here, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I have also been thinking a lot about alienation, humiliation, and bullying. So it is serendipitous that this video should make it’s way into my life now, because it epitomizes everything that is right about the Internet and as a result human beings. For everyone who claims the Internet is cesspool designed to publicly humiliate us all toward suicide dare them to create something even one tenth as powerful, beautiful and poignant as this.

I am making a vow, right here and now to try and create something as moving as this clip. I urge you to do the same. I will probably watch this video many more times, because it reaffirms what I already know, what I have always known: We are all broken on the inside and the sharing of our pain through art is our only road to true happiness and understanding.

So the next time someone tries to convince you the Internet is leading kids to suicide, show them this clip, watch their jaws drop, and the skin quiver, watch the tiny smiles curl up at their edge of their mouths, and the tears well up. You will see that they have been touched at their core and moved. Remind them the Internet is only what we make of it and dare them to action.

Come Out

"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing." Edmund Burke

“All young people, regardless of sexual orientation or identity, deserve a safe and supportive environment in which to achieve their full potential.” Harvey Milk

I woke up this morning before the sun and quickly ran through my ritual skimming of various feeds. I know this early morning search is a bit obsessive, but I like to have chunks of thought to mull over as I start my day and make my way to school. I have a sickness you see, I always like to have my mind engaged with something.

This morning unfortunately I was left with a chunk that may have been too big to swallow and I have been dealing with it all day. A friend posted this article as her Facebook Status and the opening sentence has been haunting me all day:

For the third time this month, a kid who was harassed by anti-gay bullies has taken his own life.

Stories like the one above make sense in places like Iran or Saudi Arabia, but it is shameful that they occur in a country that masquerades as the beacon of liberalism and democracy. How can a nation that prides itself on being the most modern, forward thinking model of freedom be so cruel to its own children? I know the answer to that, so don’t waste your breath. America for all its rhetoric is far from being what we liberals hope it to be. We are more like Iran and Saudi Arabia than any of us will admit. I think the majority of America has more in common with the Taliban than one would think. We are a nation of terrified, ignorant, homophobic racist brutes. Lost, misdirected and tangled in self-inflicted webs of ignorance and fear, we lash out at anyone and everyone who is a bit different than us.

But I didn’t want this post to be a tirade against the hatefulness of your average American. Shining light on hate has never done much good. As a teacher, I deal with kids, and since this story is about kids, I want the post to be for kids:

Dear lonely child,

While it may feel like you are absolutely alone and have few choices, please know that there are thousands of people who have fought and are fighting for your freedom as we speak. Do not lose hope. I know it is not moving fast enough, but change is coming. Changing a culture is like moving a mountain, but you cannot give up. You are living in a time when you have more options than any person in our position has ever had. There are people who love you and understand you. There are people who will not only accept you, but love you for who you are. These people may not be your church, your teachers, your friends, or even your family, but we are out here and we are waiting for you to make it out alive. I am not saying you merely need to wait it out, until you are old enough to escape. That would be cruel. But you need to find hope and strength in the knowledge that outside your prison walls, there are armies of people both gay and straight who are working to liberate you and allow you to live in the world with dignity and pride. In the meantime, seek out groups that can help you now. Be brave and have faith in the work of others before you. Have faith in the notion of fairness and justice. Have faith in love and goodness, even when mired in hatred and ignorance. We are all watching this rash of suicides on the news, with shock and sadness, but please do not become another statistic. Stand up and be heard for who you are not who you are expected to be. I know it is easy for me to sit in the comfort of my own home, as an adult and fill you with hot air, but the sadness I feel can only urge me to action, and yours must too. Fill your mind with vapors of freedom and align yourself with every other outcast you can find and take back your life. Most people are weak and looking for people to follow. Be that person. Take back the power from those who have horded for years. There are more of us then them, if we stop hiding in the shadows, and allowing them to fill our live with hate, we will be able to live our lives as they were meant to be lived. We are here and we love you. Never forget that.



The following is a note for the rest of us.

It’s never okay to bully others. Never under any circumstance should you use the timidity of another person to make yourself feel better, gain credibility with a crowd, or consolidate your own power. A bully is the biggest coward the world has ever known. They are small-minded people who do not have the patience or courage to truly understand themselves, so they lash out at everything and everyone that scares them and who is different from them. Bullies are scared of everything so they blindly attack. Nothing shows your insecurity more clearly than mistreating those smaller or weaker than you. When you are scared and confused do not lash out at those who are different than you just to fit. When you see someone being mistreated it is your duty as a human being to stand up for fairness and truth. There should be no fear in justice. Remember the herd will eat you alive if given a chance. So strike out and mark your own ground. You cannot stand by and laugh with your friends when they say this or that is gay as if being gay is a bad thing. Challenge people when they use words like faggot or homo. There is nothing wrong with being gay, just like there is nothing wrong with being black, a girl, Jewish, skinny, fat, whatever label the crowd is attacking this year. It is hard enough finding out who you are without worrying if the person you end up being is accepted or ridiculed. Are you worried you will not have any friends if you don’t join in? Make friends with the bullied and you will never have a closer friend.



Note for teachers:

We must stand up to homophobia where ever and whenever we ever see it. To every teacher who is afraid to stop at the group of boys who are uncomfortably calling each other gay, there is the blood of a dead gay child on your hands. We must speak to kids about homosexuality. There must be proactive efforts to help these kids feel wanted and loved and understood. We must expose homophobia for what it is. It is not a phase, or a case of boys will be boys. It is not harmless or cute. It is hateful and unfair. We cannot stand by and allow children to be terrorized to the point where they are killing themselves. We as adults who know better must stand up and be heard. How long will we allow these cycles of discrimination continue? How many more kids will have to die before we realize that homosexuality is not a choice or a disease but a very normal healthy beautiful part of who we are as human being? To ignore the children who are struggling with the weight of the world’s hate on their own is criminal?


Homosexuals can and are fighting for their rights, but they need the support of the straight community as well. This is not their battle alone. Everyone who believes in equality, fairness, justice and freedom must stand up and be heard. We will not stand by and allow the bullies of the world win!

I hope that you will comment and offer your support for everyone who is afraid to speak out. Please do not turn this post into a venue to spew hateful message of homophobia. I will erase anonymous comments that do so. This is a post about hope and faith in the goodness of human beings to overcome our own ignorance and intolerance.

The One You Feed

I got two great messages from my friend Ari today that I felt like sharing. The first is a quote by Hemingway about writing:

It was wonderful to walk down the long flights of stairs knowing that I'd had good luck working. I always worked until I had something done and I always stopped when I knew what was going to happen next. That way I could be sure of going on the next day. But sometimes when I was starting a new story and I could not get it going, I would sit in front of the fire and squeeze the peel of the little oranges into the edge of the flame and watch the sputter of blue that they made. I would stand and look out over the roofs of Paris and think, 'Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.' So finally I would write one true sentence, and then go on from there. It was easy then because there was always one true sentence that I knew or had seen or had heard someone say. If I started to write elaborately, or like someone introducing or presenting something, I found that I could cut that scrollwork or ornament out and throw it away and start with the first true simple declarative sentence I had written.

image from google

The other some Cherokee wisdom:

Native American was teaching his grandchildren about life. He said to
them, "A fight is going on inside me... it is a terrible fight and it is
between two wolves. One wolf represents fear, anger, envy, sorrow,
regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority,
...lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.

The other stands for joy, peace, love, hope, sharing, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, friendship, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith.""This same fight is going on inside you, and inside every other person, too", he added. The Grandchildren thought about it for a minute and then one child asked his grandfather, "Which wolf will win?"The old Cherokee simply replied... "The one you feed."

image by nick on

Do with that wisdom what you will.