Posts Tagged ‘Creativity’

Last night, I dreamt that I was living with an unpleasant stranger.

June 18, 2017

A living body, a person of a very firm consistency, concentrated like a stock cube of life, concentrated in all precious explosive potentials, of exploring the wilds of creative discovery that only persistent travel through layers of observation can grasp! Yet within the most moderate form, a mobile perception, alert and open to matching persons with routes of development. Astounding in complexity of consideration for others, these things can be missed, because they don’t shout, they are softly passing and are hidden to those who don’t seek them out.

Consistency solid form of a size that fits, of a potential that fits the hope of my belief, living at levels that open to love others, not collapse to fear them. Offering journeys of philosophical meaning, not a car glide with inane and paranoid commentary.

All of my life I have needed you, the meaning of the universe – if one person could ever address that meaning, so moderate, so gentle, such an unexpected array of notes.

I am a person of roses, of dancing and of dreams. Of restless analysis, will to moral observations, watching and following and listening to you listening to me. Another body moving through the space reflexively defined as space. What do others see?

Library

March 15, 2017

Looking at the spire against the cloudless blue of the first day of heat in March,

at the strange broken memorial urn with yellow sunlight streaked around its circles.

Looking for something authentically from my own motivation…

Does such a thing exist for me? Can I separate authentic motivations from motivations involved with or inspired by other people?

If I isolated these images in a film, would I be able to separate my own motivations in choosing, from connections I have with other people?

Does anyone have motivations that are isolated from the influence of other people, or is motivation intrinsically a social process? A process of intersubjective transactions?

Am I suffering from somebody else’s abusive interpretations about me being inauthentic and their association of this with my lack of creativity?

She spoke across the table: “Have you been to London?”

“Yes, we’ve been a few times, have you? Have you been to London?”

She answered: “Only the once when a policeman lifted me up, to see the Trooping of the Colour! But I’ve never been back, not all my life. It’s too expensive!”

Just as I thought about the spire, she came along the graveyard path with her enormous plaid bag, and spoke to me: “It’s a beautiful day!” I nodded yes.