Born dreaming, 12/17/07

 

Hollywood03.jpg picture by pemerytx

The notorious abode of Vivian, aka “Pretty Woman,” and Kit

 

Welcome to Hollywood!  What’s your dream?

Everybody comes here got a dream.

This is Hollywood, land of dreams.

Some dreams come true, some don’t,

but keep on dreamin’ – this is Hollywood!  

Always time to dream, so keep on dreamin’. 

Happy man, “Pretty Woman” scene 1, played by Abdul Salaam El Razzac

 

 

 

The price of a dozen writers has gone down from a dime.  Everybody is one.  For a fraction of a fraction of a cent of the cost of your monthly internet addiction, you can enter infinite worlds, Worlds of I.  And here you are in my World of I.

 

I’m mostly embarrassed to be in this position, caught in the compromising midst of wishful thinking.  Mentally half clothed, fumbling around with zippers and buttons, yearning and thirst. 

 

It’s strange, being observed here sipping the occasional glass of whine, half trying to make something happen, half waiting for it to.  But writing is the thing.  Everyone’s in on it.  I’m no different.  I want to make a living at it just like everyone else who’s fascinated with every nuance of every word.

 

Writers are glorified, and yet some of the best writers have been the most mentally tortured creatures on the planet.  The list is long, but look at Faulkner, only because I’ve been reading a bit about the guy lately.  He was a piece of work, had a personality stranger and bigger than his 5’-6” self. 

 

He was a reverse snob, sticking his nose up at technologies, driving a car with rusted out floor boards, losing all manner of peculiar belongings out the bottom as he motored along.  He went on horrific drinking binges both to mourn failures and celebrate successes.  He was a scoutmaster until a preacher complained about his drinking. 

 

At Ole Miss, he pulled off a big D in English, was denied membership to a literary society, and flunked out as university postmaster because he had strange ideas about the position, taking off early to play golf, holding up delivery of magazines until he’d read them himself.

 

His early books were financial flops, and even when he did get it together between 1929 and 1932, before he won the 1949 Nobel Prize in Literature, the Ole Miss faculty voted against awarding him with an honorary degree. 

 

Most folks in his hometown rolled their eyes at his mention until he was dead cold.  Then they started warming up to being the subjects of his stories, the backbone of the south, the “little postage stamp of native soil” that Faulkner made famous.

 

This is a common template.  A tortured soul wanders the earth for a substantial chunk of time, simply existing with a painfully sensitive eye for every little, living detail and a heart readily ripped apart and spewing at the slightest hint of some perceived injustice.  They’re as strange as the years are long and rejected because of it.  Then some thing they’ve written down that the public happens to pick up and be pierced by, hits the literary fan, and shit goes everywhere.

 

Faulkner, Hemmingway, Joyce, F Scott Fitzgerald, Bukowski, Kerouac, Capote, Poe, Dorothy Parker, Dylan Thomas, Tennessee Williams, O Henry, John Cheever, Raymond Chandler, Hunter Thompson, all tortured souls who had to smooth themselves down with alcohol.

 

Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath, Tom Wolfe, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Emily Dickinson, Henry Thoreau, Mark Twain, Robert Frost, Mary McCarthy, Lillian Hellman, and Flannery O’Connor, Edith Wharton, William Golding, Upton Sinclair, a mixed bag of insane, tortured and mildly bothered, who managed to avoid the bottle.

 

Either way, I’m game.  Sign me up.

 

And Happy Birthday, dear blog.  I hope you like the facelift I got you.  Here’s to another year of flirting with Mr. Bigtime.

 

happybirthday02.gif picture by pemerytx

 

 

CREDIT WHERE CREDIT IS DUE:

 

Las Palmas Hotel, Hollywood from http://www.ubernights.com/images/birthday.jpg

 

Marilyn Monroe, kiss kiss from http://i266.photobucket.com/albums/ii249/ceraaaa/Women/monroe-3.gif

 

Marilyn Monroe, happy first birthday http://members.wwisp.com/~tara/images/marilyn_birthday.jpg

happybirthday03a.jpg picture by pemerytx
Advertisements

9 responses to “Born dreaming, 12/17/07

  1. Happy Birthday, Miss A. and Congratulations on pumping out a years worth of dust and noise. Those of us watching from the safety of the construction fence have been treated to an interesting and entertaining show: a writer digging out ideas, hauling words about etc., a job you make look natural and easy to do. Your angst riddled company of authors not withstanding, I hope you succeed in your career goals focusing as you do so charmingly on the nitty-gritty, the basic element, the essence of a thing.

  2. Whoa, play it again, Bass! Beautiful bunch of birthday-wishing-and-beyond words here! I thank you so very much for that : ) and for showing up here faithfully, willing to take the respiratory and auditory risks involved ; )

  3. Feliz cumpleanos, hermana. I see (as the snow flurries start droppin’ on my sentiments) that your Essence is, like my son and Our Mutual Portuguese Friend, a Sagittarian: them’s auspicious company, them is.

    So, Ms Rhonda’s true “secret” was inspiring you to flounce yourself into the blogfray and commence to rockin’ the joint with your transplanted Yankee Flo-Tex hoopla. The Mighty Mosh Pit of the Blogosphere ain’t been the same since. Big (or should that be Little Big?) Bill up at Rowan Oaks wrote on his walls: lotta damn good that’ll do me over here in Tres Leches: you may write on your walls, too, for all I know, but at least you cut and paste it all into the Festive Essence.

    Rave on, O Duchess of Muchness.

  4. Happy Birthday, friend! I’m so glad to have found you here, with your keen, imaginative vision, and the occasionally unsettling syntax that rattles me from the comfort of my own narrow perspective. And I love the new “evening attire” look for your site — just right for the season. Here’s wishing you achieve all to which you aspire.

  5. Thanks, Paschal : ) You know, I wasn’t thinking astrologically when I started my blog… Hmph. That certainly explains a lot. It would have been worth almost a year’s wait to start a Scorpio WordPress blog. To hang with Google at least until mid-Capricorn! Well, if this blog still finds me too heavy and confining by June or October, I’ll kill it and start a Cancer or Scorpio blog ; ) At least I got one thing right, to work The Secret a bit ; )

  6. You’re a good, good dream, anno. Thank you for wrapping your gift of words with wishes and securing it all with a velvety bow : )

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s