Monday, November 28, 2005
soul and worlds upon words
Some feelings can only be condensed into pleasure with music.I find Nancy Wilson's Alfie and play it on repeat, so that I can keep recreating this cognac-moment. Soul music, literally. Just like tasting enjoyable novels that airship me into thinking dreaming moments, where I will just keep writing afterward.
Not in sensible copywriting words, but like cigarette smoke that fills my living room air in the lounge lighting, for pleasure and decadence only, for mine only - if I did.
After I am done, I will return to copywriting with the same pleasure, upon my desktop and write continuously for serious art purposes.
But in the meantime, she sings for me.
As sure as I believe there's a heaven above, Alfie,
I know there's something much more,
something even non-believers can believe in.
I believe in love, Alfie.
If I don't write, I will cease to live. My writers whose books I collect hungrily to read, they write for me - and teleport the elements of their experiences into my world, reconstituted, through the medium of beautiful 'live' words. If I don't learn to write like them, I cannot share my experiences, which I will keep collecting and swelling up with, until I blog and it all comes out in quickies that end too soon, or till I write for real, one lifetime, and be like my writers.