ten minutes to midnight again
I find the hostile back and forth between Obama and Hillary supporters to be really depressing. We should be delighted that we have two dynamic candidates like these cats. I don't want to dip into all that bickering any more. It's not illuminating, it's just confusing.
Reading more Dreams from My Father today. Goddamn, he's a good writer. Beyond that, there's something in him that I find seriously galvanizing, and not just politically galvanizing; I feel spurred on to make the most of myself, just as a person here on Earth. He makes me want to figure out what I'm doing here. He's a great writer - great writers do this to me. I don't mean to say that they all have the same precise effect but they all make me live differently while I'm under their spell. Tolstoy, he turns me into a magnifying glass. Nuances apppear everywhere in all their specific splendor. Who else, which other writers do what...ah, hell, it's late. I don't know. Other writers do other things. I forget everybody. But Barack Obama's writing - particularly this book - makes me want to turn myself inside out and find who the person of substance is in there. It makes me want to take myself seriously.
I read for a while this afternoon and then I leaped up and ran to the computer to work on this piece that's trying to come out of me. I could feel the essence of the question I'm wrestling with. I can't tell you what it is because it's not tellable. Even if I had the words, I think it's a case of to tell it is to kill it. It's just a lump of living clay in my gut, rumbling around, feeling significant. I did some writing and tried to burrow into it. I tried to run headfirst into the scariest part. It sort of worked. I got scared, at least. I mean in a good way. I wrote and what I wrote frightened me a bit, until I fell asleep again. Not asleep asleep. Just the regular awake asleep we all hang around in most days.
I will now do you all a favor and go to actual sleep. These rambler posts. Lordy.