Music

Not only do I not write as much as I did, I rarely listen to music anymore.

I used to have music playing all the time. The music we choose to listen to not only represents the way we feel at a certain point in time, it also affects those feelings and the actions we take because of them. It's such a joy when you run across a song that encapsules how you feel, even if what you feel at the time is far from joy.

20 Seconds Or It's Free

Sunny, hoping to revitalize my critically ill writing bug, gave me a notebook about a month ago, and asked me two write something in it every day. I've yet to write anything down, although I've thought of quite a bit to write.

I am a procrastinator of major proportions.

My inability to write these days however goes beyond that.

Number one, as a news producer I waste so much of my energy condensing detailed explanations of the events occurring here in Houston, and throughout the world, into 20 second blurbs. That's network TV news for you. Brevity has become a habit in my writing. It always has been in my speech. I've always hated talking, but writing used to be such a release. Now, it's just another quick service for the customer, like one-hour photo and 30 minute pizza delivery...only faster, and less appreciated.

Number Two...I am no longer around a creative crowd. Sunny and I know very few people here in Houston, and even fewer who we'd call friends. That very much limits the exchange of ideas going on.

Third, sheer exhaustion. With the schedule that I keep, I barely get enough sleep, not to mention maintain enough energy to write.

Fourth...addiction. To computers, to food, to sex. All these take time away from productivity. I know I should do something about these. I won't go to a therapist, because I think most are more interested in manipulating you than helping you.

I am glad that Sunny started his Blog. It gives me something to feed off of, creatively. Sunny himself is a very creative person, and has started on a semi-autobiographical novel. He's had a life worth reading about, believe me. Anyway, that leads to the question...why don't we talk about the things he writes about, and that I don't write about? I think we need to turn off that damned TV more often.

The Dying Of The Light

Welcome. This Blog is not dedicated to Dylan Thomas, he just happens to be a favorite poet of mine. Actually, he ranks far behind Robert Frost and Carl Sandburg, but "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" is a stunning piece of work.

For those of you unfamiliar:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.