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"A friend asked yesterday if this blog is addressed to anyone in particular? I said yes– it’s a love letter to someone I haven’t met yet."
CarrollBlog 12.27
"The author’s position is an odd one. The characters resist him; they are not easy to live with; they are impossible to define. You certainly can’t dictate to them. To a certain extent, you play a never-ending game with them, cat and mouse, blind-man’s bluff, hide-and-seek.”
Harold Pinter in his Nobel Prize acceptance speech
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"The hours are left for vanishing and also for joy and for blessing and for gratitude."
Jason Shinder
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http://vimeo.com/2295261
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZZrReRZPjD8&feature=related
a beauty from KM:
Starting here, what do you want to remember?
How sunlight creeps along a shining floor?
What scent of old wood hovers, what softened
sound from outside fills the air?
Will you ever bring a better gift for the world
than the breathing respect that you carry
wherever you go right now? Are you waiting
for time to show you some better thoughts?
When you turn around, starting here, lift this
new glimpse that you found; carry into evening
all that you want from this day. This interval you spent
reading or hearing this, keep it for life –
What can anyone give you greater than now,
starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?
by William Stafford
CarrollBlog 12.25
When I wake up at eight or nine on Christmas morning now I always think back to the times when, as a child, I would awaken at three or four and that would be it-- no more sleep till tomorrow. The rule in our house was we couldn't wake our parents until six or six-thirty. So for the next two or three hours we had to stay quiet in our bedrooms, waiting for the Christmas day sun to come up. Kids are like Mexican jumping beans at that age and I cannot imagine now how I mustered the patience to wait for two or three hours to pass back in those days. It must have been physically painful. There was so much anticipation for what would be in our living room, so much hope. Has there ever been that much hope or anticipation since then? For anything? Part of it was of course due to the belief as children that ANYTHING might be waiting in our living room-- the pony we had dreamed of owning, or the go kart no seven year old was allowed to drive. But still, still-- miracles *do* happen sometimes. Perhaps that is why we sleep in on Christmas day now that we are older-- no matter how wonderful the presents we're about to receive, we know for certain there will never be a pony waiting for us in the other room.
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"According to the novelist John Gardner, there are just two kinds of stories in literature: you go on a journey, or a stranger arrives in your world."
CarrollBlog 12.24
I went looking for something smart or witty or moving to say to you on Christmas Eve but couldn't find anything great except the clip below. So here's a smile and a strong embrace from gray Vienna for all of you. Merry Christmas. You have full license to eat too much, drink too much, leave the present wrappings on the floor while watching TV all day, or whatever else you want. I heard that directly from Santa himself.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8JIz7I5yzwQ&feature=channel_page
CarrollBlog 12.23
a thanks to Nichole who sent this one in. I've not heard of the poet but this is lovely:
Things, Like Dogs
by Todd Boss
I came home last night to find that my
laptop had crawled up onto the table
in anticipation of my being there,
and the piano light had switched itself on,
and two eggs had cracked themselves
into a skillet on the stove. It was odd
because I never make eggs for dinner,
but beyond that it was kind of nice.
Kind of nice to know that things,
like dogs, grow fond and want
to be had, to be used, to be played.
I stood in the emptying window light,
my shirtfront swelling with gratitude.
I was just about to say something aloud
to the contents of my house, something
grand and at the same time tender, when
the first word caught
in my throat. I stood there alone
till at last a chair I hadn’t known about
nudged the backs of my knees
and a dusty Kleenex sneezed itself out
of a nearby box I hadn’t put there. Had
I slept, I might have dreamed of rocking
gently under the stars on a ship whose
crew was foreign, whose maps
were thumbed in sand on deck each morning.
My mantel clock rang out a warning,
and later I found this poem at the back door,
looking softly up at me and wagging
its little tail.
CarrollBlog 12.21
"Love solves nothing, but your love made me appear to myself.."
Forest Gander
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"Poetry's shadow is philosophy."
Jeffrey Yang
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You can see straight thru
an x-ray fish to its heart.
We are just as transparent
so be true, gentle, honest, just...
Jeffrey Yang
CarrollBlog 12.20
Even this late it happens:
the coming of love, the coming of light.
You wake and the candles are lit as if by themselves,
Stars gather, dreams pour into your pillows,
sending up warm bouquets of air.
Even this late the bones of the body shine
and tomorrow’s dust flares into breath.
Mark Strand
CarrollBlog 12.19
When she calls, it is often from her bicycle as she rides across town to or from work. There are almost always loud background sounds-- wind, trucks rumbling by, mysterious other sounds that I sometimes find myself listening to and trying to identify as she talks. Sometimes she yelps Oh! or Oops! as she avoids potholes or dangerous drivers. I worry about her safety. I want to say just wait till you get home and then call me. But I don't because perilous as it may be to talk on a cellphone while pedaling, it is funnily intimate too. Just the two of you on there. The other night while listening to her tell a long witty anecdote, I closed my eyes and imagined I was on the bike with her, behind her, whizzing through that romantic rainy Northern city at Christmas time, looking at the lights decorating the trees, the lights inside peoples' windows, the lights shimmering yellow on the water of the canals, the lights of cars and trucks coming the other way. I was warm and comfortable at home in Vienna; she was driving through her wet city late at night, going home. Closing my eyes I was somewhere halfway between here and there, traveling.
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This link should be helpful to some:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/technology/2008/dec/18/internet-websites
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and a cheery little Christmas ditty from BW:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dehxX-wWPxM
CarrollBlog 12.18
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FgBUqJzgvBo
_______________________
www.jamesjean.com
look especially at the "sketch" section
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"Waiting for life to be fair is a losing proposition."
Gail Collins
A great story just in from RP:
"Max's ( a friend of ours) grandmother, who is an old aristocrat who never spent a dime in order to save the family fortune, decided that she was gonna spend one vacation in NYC and totally live it up. You know, Plaza hotel and such. Anyway, the catch is that she is afraid of black people. An actual phobia! So, on the second to last day she gets in the elevator to go down to the lobby of the plaza, and this black guy with sunglasses and a hood on gets in and says to her " Down? "
So she THROWS herself on the floor, LAUNCHES her purse to his feet and cowers there until, with a 'ding!', the doors open in the lobby and the guy walks out, shaking his head. Anyway, she gets up and spends her last day in NY. The next day she goes down to the lobby to pay, and the guy at the register says that the room has already been paid for. She says that's impossible cause she's there alone. He says that he's sure, and that there are flowers for her too. With the flowers there is a card that says:
"Thank you for the funniest moment in my entire life, Will Smith."
Apparently he was staying there during the "Hancock" shoot."
CarrollBlog 12.16
Driving into Our New Lives
by Maria Mazziotti Gillian
Years ago, driving across the mountains
in West Virginia, both of us are so young
we don't know anything. We are twenty-eight
years old, our children sleeping in the back seat.
With your fresh Ph.D. in your suitcase, we head out
toward Kansas City. We've never been anywhere.
We decide to go the long way around
instead of driving due west.
Years ago, driving across mountains, your
hand resting on my knee, the radio playing the folk
music we love, Pete Seeger, Joan Baez, or you
singing songs to keep the children entertained.
How could we know what is to come?
We are young. We think we'll be healthy
and strong forever. We are certain we are invincible
because we love each other, because our children
are smart and beautiful, because we are heading
to a new place, because the stars
in the coal-black West Virginia sky are so thick,
they could be chunks of ice.
How could we know what is to come?
CarrollBlog 12.15
Years ago a renowned American writer came to Vienna to give a reading. Interestingly, this man was more famous for what he hadn't done than what he had. For more than two decades he had been at work on a novel which was whispered to be a great masterpiece in the making. The writer published very little in those two decades, which only made his mystique grow. However when the novel was finally published, the reviews were not at all good. Nonetheless, he was sent out by the US State Department to some of the great European capital cities to read from it. This night in Vienna, the room was full. The writer was introduced by the US ambassador who fawned all over him. One of the things the ambassador said was the novelist was so intense while he was writing that his wife sometimes had to come into his work room and literally rest her hand on his shoulder to calm him. Anyway, the writer got up and grumpily said he wasn't in the mood to read tonight so he'd only read for ten minutes and then answer questions. He read in a monotone from his book for a short time and then closed it. He asked if there were any questions. A very elegant old man sitting right next to me raised his hand. The writer nodded to him. The old man got up slowly and said, "I have read your work for many years and now I have read this novel. I think, Sir, you are the greatest fake in modern literature. The only thing that has buoyed you over these years is people thinking you are a genius who was working on his masterpiece. Well now we know this is no masterpiece and you are as much a genius as I am. You embody The Emperor's New Clothes. Shame on you, Sir. You are a fake and a poseur."
And then he sat down.
CarrollBlog 12.14
A rule of thumb seems to be the louder the high heels on the pavement, the shorter the woman wearing them. I almost never hear (or see) a tall woman wearing loud high heels.
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At least half the men you see leaving a barber or hairstylist are briskly rubbing their heads
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I like sending and receiving text messages on a cellphone. It's a little bit like carrying that person around in your pocket all the time.
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If you owned a store, what would you sell there?
If you owned a restaurant, what sort of food (cuisine) would you serve?
If you could speak another language perfectly, what would it be?
If you were a doctor, what would be your specialty?
If you could have your dream job, what would it be?
If you could have your dream partner what two qualities must they have above all others?
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very interesting article:
http://www.villagevoice.com/content/printVersion/773042
CarrollBlog 12.13
a great one from RPC. Be sure to watch to the end:
http://www.todaysbigthing.com/2008/12/10
CarrollBlog 12.12
Addictive clothes-- everyone has some. That pair of absolute favorite jeans, the faded flannel shirt a thousand years old that has gotten more and more comfortable as it ages. Or the wool skirt you bought in university and since then it has become one of your best friends. You'd *marry* that skirt if such unions were legal. They are the clothes that, once we put them on, we never want to take off again. They are our skin's second skin. If it's a holiday or a weekend and I don't have to show my face to anyone, I'll wear my addictive sweater every day of the week. Those ratty Jack Purcell Converse sneakers that are the perfect summer shoes-not too hot or cold. You could walk around the world in those sneaks so why take them off when they treat your feet so well? Like any addiction, it's difficult to go cold turkey on these clothes. It's Monday morning again and sadly you have to put on something else-- a tie and jacket, or a power dress and stockings because the formal world is waiting and your weekend cocoon time is over. The jeans (sweater, shirt, shoes...) sit disconsolately across the room, sulking. You want to go over, pat them like a grumpy child and say don't worry-- I'll be back later and the first thing I'll do is put you on. If it were up to me I'd wear you for the rest of my life.
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d6wRkzCW5qI
CarrollBlog 12.11
A lovely review of THE GHOST IN LOVE on National Public Radio in the US that made my day:
(thanks to PM for sending it to me)
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=96107997&sc=emaf&sc=emaf&sc=emaf
CarrollBlog 12.10
a beauty from JdT:
Wait
by Galway Kinnell
Wait, for now.
Distrust everything, if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven't they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become lovely again.
Second-hand gloves will become lovely again, their memories are what give them the need for other hands. And the desolation of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness carved out of such tiny beings as we are asks to be filled; the need for the new love is faithfulness to the old.
Wait.
Don't go too early.
You're tired. But everyone's tired.
But no one is tired enough.
Only wait a while and listen.
Music of hair,
Music of pain,
music of looms weaving all our loves again.
Be there to hear it, it will be the only time, most of all to hear, the flute of your whole existence, rehearsed by the sorrows, play itself into total exhaustion.
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Fe11OlMiz8
CarrollBlog 12.9
Term of the day: Confirmation Bias
In psychology and cognitive science, confirmation bias is a tendency to search for or interpret new information in a way that confirms one's preconceptions and avoids information and interpretations which contradict prior beliefs. It is a type of cognitive bias and represents an error of inductive inference, or as a form of selection bias toward confirmation of the hypothesis under study or disconfirmation of an alternative hypothesis.
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Marlon Brando on how his childhood affected his acting career:
"when you are a child who is unwanted or unwelcome, and the essence of what you are seems to be unacceptable, you look for an identity that will be acceptable. Usually this identity is found in faces you are talking to. You make a habit of studying people, finding out the way they talk, the answers that they give and their points of view; then, in a form of self-defense, you reflect what’s on their faces and how they act because most people like to see reflections of themselves.”
CarrollBlog 12.8
One of life's often overlooked pleasures is when you find someone or something that absolutely satisfies you. As far as that person or thing is concerned, you no longer have to look anymore. Whether it be a life partner, a favorite vacation spot, a restaurant, a cheese, or brand of fountain pen ink... Finito-- the search for this is over; You know for certain that you have found it. It's rare to ever know with absolute certainty that anything is THE one for you, whether it be large or small. I wrote to someone I do business with the other day that as far as I am concerned, I will never have to look for another person to fill this role because I have you. End of discussion. The soul can now relax, at least about this matter.
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"The world seems like a bunch of different movies running at the same time. There are romance movies and sad movies, and if you pay attention most of their stories start to get all mixed together, till there's no way you can go on telling them to yourself."
Dominique Fabre from THE WAITRESS WAS NEW
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"No is a complete sentence."
Janet Taylor
CarrollBlog 12.7
selections from Esquire Magazine's THE RULES:
Talk half as much as you listen
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A sandwich tastes exactly one-third better when
it's made by someone else.
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The only thing worse than words ending in "ly" are
words ending in "ize."
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When it comes to author photos, hands should be
at least eight inches from the face.
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Never Google old girlfriends
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Never begin an essay with a quote from the Bible
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Never name a child after a continent, a nation, or
a commonwealth.
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The people who elect to perform karaoke are
never the people you wish would perform karaoke
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Irony doesn't work on a tombstone
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The best religions have great hats
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The best looking musician is always the lead singer,
followed in descending order by the lead guitarist,
rhythm guitarist, drummer, and bass player.
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On any road trip, he who is driving gets control
of the radio. No exceptions.
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If you live long enough, you will resemble a gargoyle.
CarrollBlog 12.5
Michael Silverblatt is the moderator of BOOKWORM, unquestionably the best radio show about books in the US. Norman Mailer once called him "the most important reader in America." We did this interview when I was recently in Los Angeles. His take on THE GHOST IN LOVE, and my work in general, was fascinating. It was a stimulating conversation in many different ways.
http://www.kcrw.com/etc/programs/bw/bw081204jonathan_carroll
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This is a wonderful thing:
www.goodsearch.com
CarrollBlog 12.4
from a female friend during an interesting email exchange:
"There's that great line 'most sex is a lot of heat but not often light.' One of the huge differences between men and women (imho) is men are happy with heat alone and don't care much about the light. Whereas most women think sex should be (about) light, and that's why we can't forgive you bastards when you screw around. I always remember that line in OUTSIDE THE DOG MUSEUM where you have the main character rightly say, "For men, sex is gym. For women it's church."
CarrollBlog 12.3
On the subway there's a couple that can't stop kissing. They're standing by the door and devouring each other. Kiss/ smile/ kiss/ smile-- it's kind of sweet but kind of annoying too because they're so close that it's hard not to watch them. Kiss/ smile/ kiss/ loooong look, etc. The train makes three or four stops while they only have eyes and lips for each other. But if you look closely (it's almost impossible NOT to look), the big love is coming more from the girl than from the guy. Her eyes eat him alive and every few sentences she reaches up to peck him on the lips. Finally as we're approaching a station she gives him even more kisses. You can tell this is her stop but he is staying on the train. Their goodbye is intense and then she's gone. As soon as the doors close, the guy sits down nearby and reaching into his briefcase, pulls out a giant obviously homemade sandwich. Tearing off the paper around it, he chomps into it with a delight and relish that's twice as passionate as he showed for his girl. Thank God she isn't there to see it. Her big competition is a sandwich.
CarrollBlog 12.2
Studio
by Liz Robbins
The couple in the rooms above me smoke. The smell
drifts down into their floor and through the cracks in my ceiling.
When I pass by them in the hall, they nod, Hello, hello, smile,
their arms bloomed with packages. He goes in daily
to an office. She travels to Paris with the airlines.
Once she came home with a sack overflowing with brie,
Gauloises, red wine. She smiled, shy, sideways. Down came
smoke, good silence, for days.
I lie in the dark. Dried roses, sage, scentless in a vase.
I inhale. The smell, the smell.
The man below me smokes also. The smell ascends
through his ceiling into the cracks in my floor. When I pass by,
he cries, How are you? shows his teeth, leaves bowls of chicken
stew outside my door. He never seems to leave, has money
all his own, mysteriously. Once he painted his rooms a beautiful
whorehouse red. Blond men with long lashes come to his place
to say the weekend. They play Moroccan music, sitars. Cook
with cumin and garlic. Stars shine beyond the windows, two
or three in bright clusters, and the occasional one, alone.