Friday, September 16, 2011

9.16.11 Blip Journal: the progress of a nyc writer,

Odilia Rivera Santos

I slip into living in a monastery of my own making with rules designed to turn me into an enlightened ascetic or at least a great scientist of words, thought and emotion. My distance from noise is real while I imagine all the great possibilities of life on a different kind of edge without the normal trappings of normal life. There are no bears or wild boar in my new desolate life made simple by keeping all necessary goods close and abandoning those things, material and immaterial, making flight inelegant and unappealing.
New York City fuels my creativity, nest-building to create new characters, and a structured abandonment of expected structures. Life requires we reach out as we swim inward without any worry of losing those things left anchored at a faraway shore.
Today, I asked questions in a blunt manner to avoid circuitous talk and pretense; I fed the question, and watched as it was ingested and an answer came quick and gentle.
I am reading about the mysteries of how the brain functions and misfires and fills with nuances to be collated or abandoned as we struggle with or grapple or just balance the mundane, profane, insane and the just plain aspects of living.

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