Excerpts from A Moveable Feast

"I would stand and look out over the roofs of Paris and think, "Do not worry. You have always written before, and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know."

--

"Standing there I wondered how much of what we had felt on the bridge was just hunger, I asked my wife and she said, "I don't know, Tatie. There are so many sorts of hunger." In the spring there are more. But that's gone now. Memory is hunger."

--

"It was a very simple story called "Out of Season" and I had omitted the real end of it which was the old man hanged himself. This was omitted on my new theory that you could omit anything if you knew the omitted part would strengthen the story and make people feel something more than they understood. (..understand in the the same way that they always do in a painting. It only takes time... and confidence.)"

--

"Hunger is good discipline and you learn from it... cut down on food so you will not get too much hunger-thinking."

--

"What did I know best that I had not written about and lost? What did I know about truly and care for the most?  There was no choice at all. There was only the choice of streets to take you back fastest to where you worked."

--

"All I must do now was stay sound and good in my head until morning when I would start to work again."

My Narcotics

The way art operates promises an end to a sense of being randomly ignored and humiliated just on the basis of what money we have been able to make. Art is a mechanism for appreciation, which is particularly adept at the close study of the ways in which an individual might be deserving of tenderness, sympathy and admiration – and yet neglected by the prestigious world.

- Excerpt from the essay, "Why We Look Down On People Who Don't Earn Very Much," from The Book of Life

1)

Lately I've been reminded why I've taken to art, music, and literature for comfort and perspective on so many things that I cannot seem to accept or understand. Taking pleasure and solace in paintings, songs, and books isn't just about escaping reality. These are some of the things we do in order to stay in a world that's indifferent to our humanity.

2)
Surrounding ourselves with art and having a creative form of expression gives voice and meaning to our otherwise insignificant existence. It is my belief that if we can live beautifully, even for just a brief part of our lives, then maybe, just maybe, life isn't such a waste of time. Existence, as we all know, is too damn short. By reading, we hope to live many lives and try to reach a higher knowledge of what it means to be human. What art gives us is the space to think for ourselves. Here, we might even find purpose for what it is we ought to do with our limited lives. 

3)

With all the suffering on this planet, I cannot imagine a world without beauty, even amidst destruction and confusion. It isn't a wonder why one never gets tired of beauty. In fact, we seek it everywhere we go, no matter how old we get.

What makes art and literature beautiful goes beyond form, technique, or aesthetics. It is content and particularity that draws us to the beauty of creative work, telling us " Here I am with you. I am sharing this to you. I know you've known this too." Creative expression is the beauty of connection, of having made sense to someone an experience, emotion, and dream they thought nobody could ever have words, images, or music for.

3) The Elevator Song

This moving music is a masterpiece that captures what it means to be insignificant in a vast universe. The world spins on, with or without us. It tells us important things are made meaningful only because we make them meaningful. In less than four minutes, this instrumental piece demonstrates the struggle to make every note count to create complex harmony, tension, and rousing beauty. Personally, I believe this music captures what it’s like to live a brief yet remarkable existence.

Ash Ode

When I saw you ahead I ran two blocks
shouting your name then realizing it wasn’t
you but some alarmed pretender, I went on
running, shouting now into the sky,
continuing your fame and luster. Since I've
been incinerated, I've oft returned to this thought,
that all things loved are pursued and never caught,
even as you slept beside me you were flying off.
At least what's never had can’t be lost, the sieve
of self stuck with just some larger chunks, jawbone,
wedding ring, a single repeated dream,
a lullaby in every elegy, descriptions
of the sea written in the desert, your broken
umbrella, me claiming I could fix it.

--Dean Young

Homecoming

Two of my old friends came back after a long time of being away from the city. I really missed having conversations with genuine people, so it was such a wonderful blessing to spend time with them this weekend. When you find friends that you can truly connect with, don’t let their friendship fade away. You can never replace priceless gifts.

----

Dear Z and K,

For the first time in years, I’ve come to realize that struggles and sacrifices in life don’t just happen in vain. Wasn’t it just yesterday our lives were riddled with so much uncertainty and frustration? It surprises me how the years have piled up. Though it may have taken a while, I believe we’re right on track. We’ve started to become better people.

It feels like a homecoming, one that makes us grateful for all the light and dark places of our pasts. Strangely, even our unfortunate experiences are making sense. I only needed enough time to make out the good changes that were in store for us. It makes me wonder now why I was so afraid. But having fear made me see my weaknesses, too. Nothing has been perfect, yet I am still very thankful.

It astonishes me to see how much we’ve grown. Things truly did turn out for the best despite how lost we were. Unlike our broken pasts, I know we won’t break as easily now.  Today, we are stronger and wiser.

I've learned looking back doesn’t always have to be sad or painful. That allowing enough time to pass by helps you accept things as they are. Now I know what they mean when they say "time heals wounds." I've been wronged and I've hurt other people. Through time, I was able to forgive others, and more importantly, my self.

I am very happy you’re becoming the best individuals you can be. It’s rare to find good friends like you, so I am honored to be a part of your lives. Please know that though we may not see each other often, I will always be here for you.

Description

A bird with a cry like a cell phone says something
to a bird that sounds like a manual typewriter.

 Out of sight in the woods, the creek trickles
 its ongoing sentence; from treble to baritone,

 from dependent clause to interrogative.

The trees rustle over the house: they are excited
to be entering the poem

in the late afternoon, when the clouds are creamy and massive
as if to illustrate contentment.

And maybe a wind will pluck pff the last dead leaves;
and a cold rain will splash

dainty white petals from the crab apple tree
down to the ground,

the pink and the ground mingled there,
like two different messages scribbled over each other.

In all of this place must be
reserved for human suffering:

the sick and unloved, the chemically confused
the ones who believed desperately in insight;
the ones addicted to change.

How our thoughts clawed and pummeled the walls.
How we tried but could not find our way out.

In the wake of our effort, how we rested.
How description was the sign of our acceptance.


 -- Tony Hoagland

When the Clock Struck 9,

How do I describe a floating when it has gone before I saw it from within. What is left is
a feeling of having had. Did you inhabit a spacious room filled with despair? We breathe
then move to the next obliging bird that has not slept for a century. What has it seen? It must be ashamed of mankind, but I doubt such creature was not envious of our sins. Birds may fly, but they will never be luminously delirious and alone like me. I give words to my isolation. I refuse
to speak when I desire. Inevitably, I breathe, yet I choose my death. On most nights when I suffer from an excess of self, my inner shadow complains and makes an attempt to murder my outer self. I fail to make her understand that we were never apart. The fastest way to kill one another is to kill yourself. There is no other way. You always write it yourself.

You Occupy a Vast Room in My Mind

"Do you think happiness lasts?"

You asked this during our very first conversation. I was with K at mag:net waiting for someone else when we randomly hung out. You sounded as if your life depended on it. 

Eight years later, I still remember what I said: It's a feeling. It's not meant to last. My younger self tried to reason that happiness cannot be trusted. Then you asked if it was worth pursuing, knowing that it would fade out. 

But before I could say anything, my friend arrived and I left you without much of a goodbye. Unceremonious, I know. That's how many of my conversations were marked back then. For that, I'm truly sorry.

Still, how I wish I told you: Yes, your happiness is worth pursuing. Only, I wasn't sure of this then. I could have been more encouraging, but you didn't hear the answers you needed from me. Besides, I wasn't bold enough to chase my dreams. I had no clue what would make me happy. 

You wanted to live intensely. I wasn't sure if I still wanted to live. 

Today, I think you understand this matter better than I ever will. I don't even have to say it now because that's exactly what you're doing. Through it all, I hope you know I'll just be here for you.

Maybe in a day or so I'll remind you we had this conversation, though I'm quite sure you will not remember. (You're too shy to admit you were lost back then. Also, your memory has become ten times more selective than mine.) 

For what's it's worth, I want you to know that conversation helped me somehow. Since then, I made it a point not to take happier times for granted. More importantly, just like you, I didn't want to be afraid of life and the future anymore.

So, thank you. 

I don't know why I wanted to write about this. Perhaps I should have more faith in random things.