Fast Forward

Again and again I discover that writing the blog is like walking the dog - need to do it everyday - I knew that already, but it keeps on sneaking on me. Just when you're happy you dont write because you're too busy being happy, when you're depressed you dont write because you dont want to sound depressed and all your view on the reality is distorted. So you have to be kind of sad and definitely a bit lonely to feel like this task is what you can do well at the moment. Well I have to hurry because my ex with whom I am sharing a bed for a couple of nights in the snowing and frozen london, just arrived, and he snores. Once he finishes to eat in the kitchen and gets in to bed all the fun will be over. OK thats boring, cross that all out. What I meant to say is that being an artist or a writer is such an emotional roller-coaster - you live inside your head and then you really come out only when you're vulnerable. Budding artists and snails are the same in this respect. I used to think that most of greatest art was created out of sadness. Look at all the great composers, its pointless to name them. With each one there are these happier uplifting works and the deeply touching depressing, those that give you the sense of tragedy you never knew existed and depth of suffering you could not imagine was there. But above all its underlying sadness thats haunting. In all the happy moments, here and there like a sand many days after a visit to a beach, a note of sadness creeps in your shoe like a grain of sand and though being only one note, it cuts like a knife deep into the heart and plants the awful seed. So thats what I used to think now I dont know if I am only projecting my own laziness on other people who were much more awarded and worked for their fame very hard, but who knows they're all dead and those that are alive would never admit to being lazy. One I know that did was Czeslaw Milosz, I read in one or two of his poems how lazy he thought he was, but then he got a Nobel Prize and even lived to write about it. But yes - sad, lonely and distant from people seems to be the combination that works. Perhaps thats why I travel so much but, why in hell I chose those big cities. They're so full of wonderful adventures and so alienating, but that dichotomy is false. Anyway, he's snoring like a train. More later then.