Tag Archives: books

Stone and Space

Posted on October 26, 2016 by Lee

Being “The worked stone . . . has considered limits and measured form; what it is is what it has become under the sculptor’s chisel.” The statue wants nothing, it rests upon the ground, complete and beautiful. It is what … Continue reading →

Posted in Spengler | Tagged | Leave a comment

Notes on Allen Ginsberg’s “Howl”

Posted on October 20, 2016 by Lee

Allen Ginsberg gives us picture after picture of the lost minds, “the best minds of my generation”, images of entire lives lived and lived out and used up, flashes of light and life like the images in Whitman, who also … Continue reading →

Posted in Literature | Tagged , , , , | 3 Comments

Cloud Mind Shadow

Posted on September 21, 2016 by Lee

“I believe that only a dreamer who has fear neither of life nor death will discover this infinitesimal iota of force which will hurtle the cosmos into whack – instantaneously.” What do you do when you have no fear of … Continue reading →

Posted in Fiction, Writing | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Reading Spengler Again

Posted on September 8, 2016 by Lee

This preface I’m reading says I shouldn’t be literal-minded when reading Oswald Spengler. Yes, his presentation of the facts is dubious, he exaggerates and distorts, he’s polemical – but I mustn’t let this spoil my enjoyment. I’d be missing out … Continue reading →

Posted in History, Writing | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Dostoevsky, Death and Paradise

Posted on September 1, 2016 by Lee

Why write? Not to create original truths, but to remind ourselves of old truths. We need to be reminded: we are forgetful. Original stories to remind us of what we’ve always known. The history of humanity, and the duration of … Continue reading →

Posted in Literature, Writing | Tagged , , | 6 Comments

The Very Last Love in the World

Posted on August 8, 2016 by Lee

Vladimir Mayakovsky’s “The Backbone Flute” is a poem about desire, the mystery of where desires come from, and how they can fade and be forgotten. And it’s about the suffering of an artist, a poet, whose desires seem too wide … Continue reading →

Posted in Literature, Writing | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

When is it Life? Part 3. Final Part: “Life Presents Itself”

Posted on July 25, 2016 by Lee

Something is wrong with Henry Miller, as he wanders Broadway, lost, unable to write. This is what we’re really seeing when Miller gives us his picture of impersonal Broadway. Broadway reflects Miller himself: inhuman, sleepwalking, living dead, an abyss for … Continue reading →

Posted in Literature, Writing | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

When is it Life? Part 2: Miller at Epidaurus

Posted on July 23, 2016 by Lee

A day for relaxation, spent reading The Colossus of Maroussi by Henry Miller. I’m in a pleasant, empty bar where I can drink wheat beer as I sink into a comfortable chair, absorbed. “The road to Epidaurus is like the … Continue reading →

Posted in Fiction, Literature, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

When is it Life? Part 1: Henry Miller on Broadway

Posted on July 13, 2016 by Lee

Henry Miller is looking around at Broadway, all the people not themselves but one great mass “cackling with a thousand different human tongues, cursing, applauding, whistling, crooning, soliloquising, orating, gesticulating . . .” Each of these individual persons is alive, … Continue reading →

Posted in Literature | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

That Dark and Silent Gap

Posted on June 10, 2016 by Lee

“Although, to restless and ardent minds, morning may be the fitting season for exertion and activity, it is not always at that time that hope is strongest or the spirit most sanguine and buoyant.” Reasons why I can’t write in … Continue reading →

Posted in Literature, Writing | Tagged , , | 2 Comments