the call to Greece is getting louder


been happening for some time—since found fathers’ utterances awakened in me a sense of history, tenure, belonging, ancestry

“Of course an artistic soul evolves, becomes better. We have to fly South with the birds. We have to find new places, new people to be around, new ways of being. It’s essential.”

leaning against the columns at the Parthenon, I have to be prepared to be wrecked and torn and reassembled there in my own breath, for they’re still talking (the sculptors), the past is still us

and my faiths would be tested: my faith in not editing, in just flowing, being a painter of thoughts and letting lines be what they are, not making them into something else (too much; always a solo negotiation—so long as I am using words and they are changing/blessing me, all shall be well ~ here in flight there are no problems; the only ‘problem’ is if you’re not sure you’re loved, and every silence undoes you, and time leads you right back here

filmmaking is so powerful (ah, there were three other things to add right there; i have to trust the forces animating either next words or links; i can paint with objects of various sizes, and i cannot just form the current thing to the old familiar thought-of shape;

“As an artist, you seek a connection, a response, a resonance with your audience, whether it’s a conversation with a single other person, or a theater, a packed house. One place that knocked me out with its reception was Athens. Despite all that Greece has been through recently, young people put together this film festival for the love of it, not for money.”

there is always a war with money—others’ false obedience out of fear; this puling seeking for a father to rescue us/you/me from fear, the fear of the jungle, of the masculine, judgmental world where results are all that count, where enthusiasm is sentimental

“In Athens it is still possible to live as a man. You see this,” his hand sweeping around to encompass the scene, “is not possible in London or Paris or New York. There a man must give his life to money. I say again, only in Athens is it possible to be a man.”

so then: what are you/we/I fighting for? Where is the exit? What is the enemy? Does it take more drilling alone in a room? Maybe; the essence is deeper, and clearer deeper down; and each day it must be reinvented because we are obsessed with invention; one tries stating and transcending human nature all day every day, two impossible jobs (like mother and professional athlete)

insert: fathers, lies

evolving past limiting beliefs is an addiction; freeing yourself, daring to ask for what you want then filming (or not) your delight; ah—to live and/or to tell…

foolish men on foot populated Europe in pictures of the past

how many good lines must you write before you sell? Oh, difficult hell, you’re always failing somewhere — this is feverish, true, endless; yet the day ends, the flame over the hills sinks / and no one likes to hear about your working; what’s the residue? Is it love? Love is finally in the hands; love is walking away from the studio—the studio will always be war, you and the gripping shadow

can this make sense to one (1) financier? How bad do you want your life? Thrashing serpent bearing teeth—how fierce can you get? Always, self-competition…always seeking a buyer-in to your drama…but if you can suffer *and* create, you’re free to write plays that relieve you; any old oaf can talk business ~ can one talk to God *and* conduct business via two casual rivers all day and night; dare you not lose touch with either thread? Can you expand enough? Can you be that polymath, genius, universal man? Will you take that flight? I ask myself and let anyone overhear who needs this.

hunger is instructional—hunger (and need) teaches all, redefines and reattaches all dictionary terms

the intensity of longing for simplicity is what makes the beautiful topper to the church, a spire, greeting God

i could give myself the gift of still being a young poet

everything is already there, here, everywhere, and life is long and short, here forever; hearing the next word come out is everything—listening is heaven; you made it

did it take seven years to learn silence? does one learn it once or/and for all?

you’re always home and returning home; destination is origin, no failure from here——a wild place, raucous: simple clarity, maturity

OK, I remember what i was looking for

there, OK found it



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Geoffrey Lewis

filling the blinking cursor with whatever comes up, letting the leviathan lead me to glory, singing popular music covers on video on Smule too, speaker, rambler