tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54274437290443494732024-03-12T18:15:42.802-07:00Mixed AnimalRichard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.comBlogger190125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-29529802519948275062019-04-08T12:57:00.001-07:002019-04-08T13:12:59.232-07:00Silence is no response<i></i><br />
but contains every response.Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-82364654595350571612018-02-28T18:38:00.001-08:002018-02-28T18:38:29.386-08:00Miss You<i></i><br />
please<br />
<br />
mercy<br />
<br />
i love you for leading me deeper into the darkness and loss and grief<br />
<br />
into myself which is disappearing as i go deeper into you<br />
<br />
throw me a crumb<br />
<br />
trying to find the perfect way to surrender to you makes me so high<br />
<br />
maybe i am most happy when you are denying me<br />
<br />
(silence, the impeccable response)<br />
<br />
when you are made so happy by my suffering<br />
<br />
my suffering brings you peace<br />
<br />
and your peace calms my suffering<br />
<br />
you lead me through the cycles of suffering merely by existing in the clouds above<br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i><br />
Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-95989101695327712017-03-27T21:50:00.003-07:002017-03-27T22:58:33.999-07:00On the Path <i></i><br />
It's no good to continue following the path <br />
i'm on, but there is no other path <br />
and if there is, i wouldn't follow it<br />
<br />
What brings such quiet small despair <br />
is that the path will not leave me alone <br />
to simply follow it<br />
<br />
It sings to me of gifts <br />
that if i had followed it more wildly or wisely <br />
i would have received by now, <br />
or will still receive <br />
if i continue to follow it, or if i turn <br />
and follow another path entirely before it's too late<br />
<br />
The promise is imprisoned in silence<br />
<br />
This is not complicated but is the most simple thing ever<br />
<br />
Wait for nothing<br />
from anyone or anything<br />
<br />
There is no protection from the promise<br />
or the gift <br />
or the failure<br />
<br />
The last infinitesimal knot in meditation <br />
will not loosen simply because i will it to <br />
It will loosen, open and fall away <br />
only according to some mysterious surrender,<br />
surrender of the most cherished mystery<br />
<br />
i will follow the path, then, <br />
increasing my light by lightening <br />
the weight every day <br />
even if by only that one single thought <br />
that i capture and torture no longer, but let go free<br />
like a dry leaf in an unforgiving windstorm, <br />
the most important thought of my entire life<br />
<i></i>Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-76863655329347454892016-11-13T11:38:00.001-08:002016-11-13T11:44:34.063-08:00Why Write in a Time of Such Madness?<i></i><br />
(To the good thing in each life that evil would love you to stop doing, <br />
to find futile, to see no point in, so take heart...)<br />
<br />
The bewilderment lingers and bursts forth without warning and recedes once more.... <br />
<br />
At a time like this I can't remember why I write. <br />
It feels useless and pointless in the face of such hatred & fear & evil.... <br />
<br />
But I'll never remember why I write by thinking about how I should be writing. Just as I can't enjoy getting the blood going by thinking about the treadmill.... <br />
<br />
Unplug Mr. TV, open that file, and get back to work, son. <br />
The work that by miracle soothes the terror and transforms the absurd <br />
into a kind of insane serenity. The work that will allow me later today <br />
to be a human being with other human beings who are suffering through this much more than I am.... <br />
<br />
If I want to vanquish the haters, if I want to restore justice <br />
to the country and the cosmos, open that file and write, friend,<br />
write as if your life depended on it, though I write about something <br />
as seemingly inconsequential as an angry girl going into Trader Joe's<br />
for a smoothie, because I know my life, in the deepest sense, in the most<br />
spiritual sense, the sense of joy, does depend upon it. <br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i>Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-25460858247541336512016-06-25T14:58:00.002-07:002016-06-25T14:58:14.057-07:00HOPE!<i></i><br />
It's not that you lose hope. Your relationship with hope just calms down & you almost forget about it. Hope is not looking forward to getting what you want. It's looking back at all the times you did, all the times you didn't, all the times you got something different than what you wanted, and seeing the whole glorious mess from a heightened perspective, from a quiet stillness like space. So that you can come back to earth and wash the dishes, or carefreely send something out again into the world. It's taking a little step that affirms life, affirms being, without having anything to do with the past or the future.<br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i>Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-85277074761119667002015-10-31T15:22:00.004-07:002015-10-31T15:22:58.536-07:00Notes for a New Novel.<i></i><br />
female protagonist<br />
no sarcasm<br />
the simplest book ever written<br />
don't repeat anything<br />
overestimate the intelligence of the reader<br />
(i.e., the reader is smarter than me<br />
and can figure it out much better than me,<br />
i.e., the reader is not as slow-thinking as me)<br />
unassuming<br />
straightforward<br />
uncool<br />
no childhood, no psychology <br />
(more to come...)<br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i><br />
Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-85551091824762908692015-06-21T04:05:00.005-07:002015-06-21T04:07:18.662-07:00can't sleep<i></i><br />
her hand curled<br />
on my chest<br />
in the dark <br />
<br />
my heart pounding<br />
in my teeth<br />
still<br />
<br />
in the corner<br />
near the ceiling<br />
a small boat<br />
<br />
rocks,<br />
its light<br />
coming & going<br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i>Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-80262457074436535392014-12-07T12:58:00.004-08:002014-12-07T12:58:56.877-08:00When they say write what you're most afraid of<i></i><br />
why does the mind go to the sensational, <br />
the violent, the anarchic, vengeance, perversion, <br />
the stuff of the shadow and the id? <br />
<br />
But these days aren't the most frightening things <br />
of all to write about . . . loneliness, silence, <br />
kindness, listening, believing, stillness, <br />
understanding, tenderness?<br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i>Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-32539606245855452014-11-06T21:05:00.001-08:002014-11-06T21:05:18.176-08:00"Writing Will Not Save Your Soul."<i></i><br />
"Writing will not save your soul.<br />
<br />
The only act that will save your soul <br />
is creating simple daily kindness for others.<br />
<br />
However, being who you are, you must write <br />
(as near to daily as you can) <br />
in order to be able to go into the world <br />
in a state of mind that will allow you <br />
to create simple daily kindness for others.<br />
<br />
So, after all, writing will save your soul." <br />
<br />
-Ishii Ougourou<br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i>Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-45598628981894710902014-06-10T14:14:00.000-07:002014-06-10T14:33:30.687-07:00"Could You, Bob Hill" (my story in The Greensboro Review)<i></i><br />
<a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B9nXvUo7LATAV2M4WUswaXA3MW8/edit?usp=sharing">Could You, Bob Hill</a><br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i>Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-68552710255989910102014-01-29T02:10:00.002-08:002016-05-08T10:38:15.048-07:00Nice review of Adirondack Review & my story "Men Have Names"...<i></i><br />
<a href="http://www.thereviewreview.net/reviews/sound-and-sensibility-online-mag-showcases-emerging-">HERE!</a> (SCROLL DOWN PAST GOBBLEDYGOOK)<br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i>Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-90098140070196048282013-11-25T20:52:00.002-08:002013-12-01T13:33:14.776-08:00My story "MEN HAVE NAMES" just went online at The Adirondack Review.<i></i><br />
<a href="http://www.theadirondackreview.com/richardmartin.html">"Men Have Names"</a><br />
<br />
Happy reading!<br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i>Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-3783499135107965332013-11-17T00:21:00.004-08:002013-11-17T00:21:44.988-08:00Wait Until Spring, Bandini (John Fante)<i></i><br />
Finally got around to reading some of this wonderful writer. <br />
Loved the style, the narrative, wow, full-blast energy, fiery <br />
Italian family in Colorado in 1930s, voice full of surprises<br />
& play, mob of poor & lively driven folks trying to get through, <br />
love & poverty, a high-pressure hose loosely held & almost out of <br />
control. <br />
<br />
This passage from page 27 was my favorite, <br />
Maria & her furnace: <br />
<br />
"It was so cold that morning, so cold. Her jaw chattered<br />
and ran away from her. The dark green linoleum might<br />
have been a sheet of ice under her feet, the stove itself a<br />
block of ice. What a stove that was! a despot, untamed and<br />
ill-tempered. She always coaxed it, soothed it, cajoled it,<br />
a black bear of a stove subject to fits of rebellion, defying<br />
Maria to make him glow; cantankerous stove that, once<br />
warm and pouring sweet heat, suddenly went berserk and<br />
got yellow hot and threatened to destroy the very house.<br />
<br />
Only Maria could handle that black block of sulking iron,<br />
and she did it a twig at a time, caressing the shy flame,<br />
adding a slab of wood, the another and another, until it<br />
purred beneath her care, the iron heating up, the oven<br />
expanding and the heat thumping it until it grunted and<br />
groaned in content, like an idiot. <br />
<br />
She was Maria, and the stove loved only her. Let Arturo <br />
or August drop a lump of coal into its greedy mouth<br />
and it went mad with its own fever, burning and blistering<br />
the paint on the walls, turning a frightful yellow, a chunk <br />
of hell hissing for Maria, who came frowning and capable, <br />
a cloth in her hand as she twitted it here and there,<br />
shutting the vents deftly, shaking its bowels until it<br />
resumed its stupid normalcy.<br />
<br />
Maria, with hands no larger than frayed roses, but that <br />
black devil was her slave, and she really was very fond <br />
of it. She kept it shining and flashily vicious, its nickel<br />
plated trade name grinning evilly like a mouth too proud<br />
of its beautiful teeth."<br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i>Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-67705245156989432622013-11-08T14:15:00.001-08:002013-11-08T14:15:54.265-08:00"A book melts and shifts in the memory."<i></i><br />
"To grasp the shadowy & phantasmal form of a book,<br />
to hold it fast, to turn it over and survey it at leisure--<br />
that is the effort of a critic of books, and it is perpetually<br />
defeated.<br />
<br />
Nothing, no power, will keep a book steady & motionless<br />
before us, so that we may have time to examine its shape<br />
& design. As quickly as we read, it melts & shifts in<br />
the memory.<br />
<br />
Even at the moment when the last page is turned,<br />
a great part of the book, its finer detail, is already<br />
vague and doubtful.<br />
<br />
A little later, after a few days or months, how much<br />
is really left of it? A cluster of impressions, some<br />
clear points emerging from a mist of uncertainty, this<br />
is all we can hope to possess . . . in the name of a book."<br />
<br />
-Percy Lubbock, The Craft of Fiction (1931)<br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i>Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-16633956622044604052013-08-09T18:07:00.002-07:002013-08-10T00:24:37.484-07:00On the Impossibility of Making Amends.<i></i><br />
Whenever I reach into the past,<br />
or whenever I'm dragged back there<br />
kicking & screaming, I discover<br />
again how impossible it is to make full<br />
& complete amends to all the people I hurt.<br />
<br />
I'm not bringing this up in a woe is me way.<br />
I'm not bringing it up to absolve myself<br />
or anybody else of doing all we can to find<br />
those we hurt & make amends, which involves<br />
not only apology but finding out what we can do<br />
to make things as right as we can.<br />
<br />
I am all for all that & I urge anybody in recovery or <br />
not to go for the amends whole-heartedly, as long<br />
as it doesn't lead to more pain for those we<br />
would make amends to.<br />
<br />
Still, it's impossible, for anybody who drank<br />
as long as most recovering alcoholics drank,<br />
10, 20, 30 years, to even remember everybody <br />
we hurt and how we hurt them, and how badly, <br />
even cruelly.<br />
<br />
I just had a reach into the past with an old<br />
friend and was reminded of a person and an incident<br />
in which I hurt that man awfully. I never thought <br />
of the man when I was making my step 8 list,<br />
never crossed my mind, and if it had I wouldn't <br />
have ever thought I did anything to him which would <br />
call for amends.<br />
<br />
On the one hand, I got a new amends from fifty years<br />
ago to make, which is a good thing.<br />
<br />
On the other hand, it's disheartening to realize,<br />
again, how much damage I did back then that I<br />
don't even remember.<br />
<br />
I'm not bemoaning my own situation, or not too much. <br />
I'm mostly trying to see, in terms of the present, <br />
the unamended damage I did. How can I make amends for<br />
so many wrongs I did that I'll probably never even remember?<br />
<br />
Here's the good part. Long-time sober that I am, and<br />
a better man and human that I may be compared to that<br />
guy pre-1986, I am still self-centered as hell & it is not<br />
my nature to go out of my way to be of service to my<br />
fellow human, suffering or alcoholic or not.<br />
<br />
I've battled lately with feeling I'm sick of trying to<br />
help others, especially fellow alcoholics, because, well,<br />
you know, what the hell good does it do and besides I'm<br />
underappreciated, don't you know.<br />
<br />
Then I run into the past again, get reminded of all<br />
the damage I did, so much forgotten, in blackouts and<br />
not in blackouts, and how try as I may I'll never make <br />
amends for it all. <br />
<br />
And that painful reminder makes me realize the importance <br />
and spiritual meaning of LIVING AMENDS.<br />
<br />
Which means to me remembering that when I'm kind to<br />
the people in my life today, even when I don't feel like it,<br />
even when I think they haven't "earned" it, even when I feel<br />
that they have wronged me, <br />
<br />
when I try to be there for others, alcoholics or otherwise,<br />
even when it feels pointless and hopeless and I'd rather<br />
be pursuing selfish pursuits,<br />
<br />
what I'm doing then is in a kind of a way making amends<br />
somehow for the wrongs I did others, for the hurt I brought<br />
others, even though I can't even remember them or the wrong<br />
or the hurt that I caused.<br />
<br />
I just sighed with gratitude for living amends, and resolve<br />
again to appreciate the chance to be kind & patient & loving<br />
& compassionate to others today who are in my life, <br />
partly because I was not kind or patient or loving or compassionate <br />
to so many people in my past who I cannot reach or even remember. <br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i>Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-71828580050578659172013-06-09T15:26:00.001-07:002013-06-09T17:13:01.588-07:00Three Newcomers at a Meeting Last Night, Two Had No Resentments<i></i><br />
which gave me two more resentments.<br />
<br />
I'm beginning to suspect<br />
that people may not know<br />
what a resentment is.<br />
<br />
It's a very simple <br />
natural thing.<br />
Here, have one.<br />
Have another, they're small<br />
at first.<br />
<br />
A person at another meeting<br />
with decades of time <br />
actually asked for a definition.<br />
She didn't think she'd any <br />
since she did her fifth step<br />
in 1970.<br />
<br />
I believe they're the raw material<br />
of serenity, spiritual <br />
alarm clocks, welcome<br />
resentment! let's discuss!<br />
let's burrow to the root!<br />
get sunshine's agony in there!<br />
<br />
I believe if you hung <br />
with the Dalai Lama a while<br />
you'd see resentment <br />
in action, building soul.<br />
<br />
Although it's possible<br />
it's just me<br />
& everybody else <br />
is rigorously honest, shrugging<br />
at the whole idea & truly <br />
finished & resentment free.<br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i>Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-85711456270042696042013-06-06T03:17:00.003-07:002013-06-06T04:20:38.965-07:00Jesus the Carpenter & the Unfinished Add-On. <i></i><br />
Knock-Knock.<br />
<br />
Yes?<br />
<br />
Is Jesus home?<br />
<br />
He's out.<br />
<br />
You know when he'll be back?<br />
<br />
I suspect it could be a while. To what is this pertaining to?<br />
<br />
Well, he started a project for me, an add-on to my place over here on Via Way, and he's half-done and it's holding up the other guys. <br />
<br />
Did you pay him?<br />
<br />
Yeah, I paid him.<br />
<br />
Before he finished? Tsk tsk. How much more does he have to do?<br />
<br />
Maybe two, three days. He's doing a hell of a job, I hate to have to hire another guy.<br />
<br />
Well, I'm sure he'll finish it.<br />
<br />
Yeah, but when?<br />
<br />
Well, as I say, he's out right now.<br />
<br />
Where?<br />
<br />
He's wandering around the general vicinity.<br />
<br />
Doing what?<br />
<br />
Saving the world, etc. <br />
<br />
Saving the-- Oh! That's <i>this </i>Jesus? I heard about that! That's <i>our </i>Jesus?<br />
<br />
Yes. <br />
<br />
Miracles, Son of God, so on?<br />
<br />
Yes, sir.<br />
<br />
Well, I'll be. Hmm. I must say I'm rather surprised. He kept to himself on the job. Had very little to say actually. Of course, you could tell he was thinking. <br />
<br />
Yes, always thinking.<br />
<br />
Huh! Well, I'll be darned. Okay. Of course this doesn't exactly solve my problem, does it? <br />
<br />
Perhaps not, but it puts it into context.<br />
<br />
How's that?<br />
<br />
Well, he's saving the world, and you're worried about your add-on.<br />
<br />
You trivialize my house being in an uproar with an unfinished room? Bare drywall, dust everywhere. And it's not just a room, it's the den slash home office I've always dreamed about. You don't think these rather extreme suggestions he's making about himself might be called into serious question if it gets around that he's left my add-on half-done? And who knows how many other projects he's left in the lurch. There could be three-legged tables and unhung doors all over Nazareth. You can't up and start a new profession without tying your loose ends up first. No, ma'am, I don't think he'd want this to get around. Bad for business.<br />
<br />
I hope you're not talking about blackmailing the Son of God. <br />
<br />
No, but I am considering small claims court. My goodness, the Son of God. Such a quiet fella on the job. Although he talked to himself a lot, come to think of it. Working something out. Well, tell him I came by. I really think he could knock it off in two, three days. Maybe he could just come over on the weekend. I'll gladly pay overtime.<br />
<br />
I'll tell him. I'll let him know.<br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i><br />
Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-70964633549521689352013-05-30T23:29:00.002-07:002013-06-06T04:14:58.811-07:00Understanding Is a City of Sand<i></i><br />
Understanding is "figuring out."<br />
<br />
Understanding is "words."<br />
<br />
I heard a rumor:<br />
understanding a person<br />
will give me peace of mind.<br />
<br />
"Ask not to be understood,<br />
but to understand."<br />
Ask for neither.<br />
<br />
When I look you in the eye,<br />
when I say good morning, I forget<br />
you're a universe of mysteries <br />
upon a universe of mysteries<br />
even unto yourself, even when you<br />
look yourself in the eye. <br />
<br />
"If something is not hidden<br />
it cannot be found."<br />
<br />
Understanding is a cripple.<br />
<br />
I am talking about the person I cherish,<br />
I am talking about a stranger, a man with a face<br />
made to annoy me, to sandpaper my brain <br />
every time I think of him, a woman in a scarf<br />
I pass on the street & am sure is the one, a woman <br />
I never saw before & will never see again, <br />
though we both live to 95.<br />
<br />
I will understand none of them.<br />
<br />
Understanding is a city of sand.<br />
<br />
Understanding is blind, deaf, mute, lost,<br />
meandering the sandy cliff.<br />
<br />
No, it's going to take something way way beyond <br />
understanding, one of those impossible things <br />
that make understanding look like a drooling idiot <br />
in a sandbox in the rain. <br />
<br />
Going out among human beings<br />
believing that understanding<br />
will get my soul where she needs to be<br />
is like<br />
going out to build a house<br />
with a sackful of tools made of sand.<br />
<br />
Please love understanding.<br />
It cannot help itself.<br />
Have compassion for understanding.<br />
It is doing the best it can.<br />
Have mercy on understanding.<br />
It is not the one saying all those <br />
impossible things about itself,<br />
about what it is, and what it can do,<br />
and what it can bring.<br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i>Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-81030750202144981762013-04-15T12:16:00.002-07:002013-04-16T12:47:53.248-07:00My story is out in The Greensboro Review...<i></i><br />
It's not online. Please support this fine long-established journal<br />
if you can. If you absolutely positively unequivocababally <br />
can't afford to buy the Spring issue ...<br />
($8 for the issue, inc. shipping) here:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://tgronline.net/buy/">The Greensboro Review</a><br />
<br />
... or maybe even subscribe, then please make a case for<br />
how much you long to read it and my cold cold heart <br />
may be moved to send you a PDF of the story, "Could You, Bob Hill."<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-umzoUCM6r1M/UWxNPbfIawI/AAAAAAAAAFw/i8boiXsWeVM/s1600/546148_10151422722328215_406676784_n.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-umzoUCM6r1M/UWxNPbfIawI/AAAAAAAAAFw/i8boiXsWeVM/s320/546148_10151422722328215_406676784_n.jpg" /></a><br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i>Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-90496268188015411822013-02-10T13:11:00.002-08:002013-02-10T14:54:35.832-08:00The Greensboro Review is publishing my story in Spring 2013 issue.<i></i><br />
"Could You, Bob Hill" coming in mid-March.<br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i>Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-4992828845693229032012-12-28T02:50:00.002-08:002012-12-28T12:46:21.514-08:00Bathrobe Enlightenment, 3 am<i></i><br />
They say it's hatred<br />
of yourself but<br />
it feels like love<br />
of emptiness<br />
<br />
I don't get depressed <br />
compared to <br />
the old days,<br />
younger foolish days,<br />
drinking days<br />
waking up in hell days<br />
<br />
I have no reason to<br />
I have friends now<br />
Love, sobriety, better habits, so<br />
I have no reason to<br />
<br />
The person who calls himself<br />
by my name<br />
has no reason to<br />
after all <br />
he has a story out soon<br />
<br />
I have people who know<br />
many sides of me<br />
My friends & people <br />
who are sleeping now<br />
<br />
It's probably only<br />
existential, hour <br />
of the wolf stuff<br />
<br />
I'm calm, in my bathrobe,<br />
looking for a sliver <br />
of light in the block <br />
of black ice continents <br />
& centuries thick<br />
<br />
Out the window white <br />
dots in the block,<br />
stars & planes<br />
satellite maybe<br />
brand new or burned out<br />
move across the sky,<br />
far ones slow,<br />
near ones faster,<br />
somebody in them<br />
driving somewhere<br />
at this deep hour<br />
in the dark sky<br />
keeping me company<br />
unbeknownst<br />
<br />
I have no reason<br />
It's only been a few days<br />
I don't even wonder if I<br />
should be concerned<br />
<br />
Everything is smooth<br />
on the surface<br />
everything is smoother<br />
underneath<br />
smoother the deeper<br />
you go<br />
<br />
There's nothing wrong<br />
with feeling<br />
sorry for yourself<br />
once in a while<br />
<br />
I am looking<br />
for the compassionate one<br />
is dreaming of brushing his hair<br />
the compassionate one<br />
<br />
It will pass<br />
one way or the other<br />
dots in the black sky<br />
someone driving<br />
someone not<br />
<br />
I am all right but<br />
there are times when<br />
you face your fears<br />
and there is<br />
nothing there after all<br />
the plainest of enlightenment<br />
oh, hmm, so<br />
can surprise be still<br />
as the clock ticks,<br />
the dots pass silently<br />
all night & morning<br />
comes & I'll find this<br />
& wonder what<br />
I was talking about<br />
wonder what<br />
I meant, thinking<br />
already<br />
now of the pancake place<br />
where I may look<br />
deeper in the eyes<br />
of someone to see <br />
what I've been missing<br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i><br />
<br />
Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-89300040119443108282012-12-16T02:56:00.001-08:002012-12-16T02:56:13.234-08:00Spiritual Update & the Unformed Parts of a Story.<i></i><br />
By Spiritual I mean intuitive, human, vision, voice,<br />
psychology, psychic, empathy, insight, wisdom, love, <br />
and so on.<br />
<br />
By Update I mean the growth that an individual undergoes<br />
every day. The man I am yesterday is not the man I am <br />
today. I see more, slightly yes, but when I look into <br />
the work today I see things I didn’t see yesterday, <br />
some things are clear and simple suddenly, what to <br />
put in, what to take out.<br />
<br />
By Unformed Parts I mean those scenes or chapters where<br />
you know what you want in general and have written some<br />
of it down, but the whole is not clear, neither are <br />
the specifics, the thing is blurry, you’re on the surface. <br />
The layers are thin and watery, it hasn’t gelled, etc.<br />
<br />
By Story I mean story, novel, etc.<br />
<br />
So the main idea is that these unformed parts I see <br />
as a "problem." But they are no more a problem than <br />
a patch of weedy ground I'm looking at from above <br />
and beginning to imagine a garden, vegetable, zen, <br />
cactus, rose garden, but I haven’t entered it yet,<br />
I’m looking still from above, from outside. <br />
<br />
Spiritual is to enter, to swim within, to be <br />
the pure animal that belongs in that ecology. <br />
Brer Rabbit in the briar patch.<br />
<br />
When I think of these unformed parts I subconsciously,<br />
or habitually is probably a better word, I habitually <br />
shy away from them, put them off, fear them slightly, <br />
just enough, suspect that I won’t be able to grow them <br />
as I have grown such unformed parts hundreds and hundreds <br />
of times before. But the old mind kicks in, the old<br />
mind whose job it is to doubt. <br />
<br />
But I don’t want to overcome the doubt, waste time <br />
and energy wrestling it, battling, nor do I want <br />
to build false confidence, unnecessary confidence <br />
that becomes itself a burden, a weight.<br />
<br />
I want neither doubt nor confidence. I want the middle <br />
ground, the broad highway of many choices and opportunities, <br />
where the fitting path for this particular unformed scene, <br />
or conversation, in the case of the particular thing I <br />
happen to be thinking of, is laid out.<br />
<br />
A conversation between two realms, as a matter of fact. <br />
Characters from two realms, and it is outlandish, between <br />
a man and the ghost of a woman, and so that causes me <br />
to doubt and want to rely on my confidence to blot out <br />
the doubt, but to do so is to doubt the story, the <br />
characters, this bridge or plain or crossing in the story <br />
that these two have been led to by all that has come<br />
before.<br />
<br />
I want to be free even of confidence in joining with <br />
the story to bring forth this scene, this conversation <br />
between unlikelys. Confidence is the flipside to doubt, <br />
it cannot be relied upon to find the truth any more than <br />
doubt can be relied upon to find lies.<br />
<br />
So I’m thinking, fearing, that I can’t do it. But I know <br />
I can and will. But I want to learn something now about <br />
that state, not write the scene, although this will free <br />
me up anyway to do so.<br />
<br />
The reason that I feel, fear, that I won’t be able to do <br />
it is because I cannot do it. Not at once anyway. Not in <br />
one day, no matter if I worked 16 hours on it. This is me. <br />
Because it requires spiritual growth, and spiritual growth <br />
happens from day to day, slowly and surely, often upon waking,<br />
from sleep, from dreams, when they are rich and effective.<br />
<br />
That's the most important part of writing—-the spiritual growth <br />
that happens in the writing of a story, the spiritual waking<br />
that's clarified and expressed in the writing.<br />
<br />
This is evident when, on waking, I look upon a scene, or <br />
paragraph, sentence, line of dialogue, piece of story <br />
I'd looked on many times before, but now it is clear <br />
and simple and undeniable how it is supposed to be, <br />
what is supposed to be put in and what needs to be taken <br />
out. The change from day to day, from going to sleep and<br />
waking up, is subtle, but it is there, and cumulative, a <br />
gathering meant to be spent.<br />
<br />
We grow day by day, and writing is the way to see this.<br />
<br />
No, I cannot write this important conversation today, <br />
perhaps, but it is being written anyway, by the many selves <br />
that approach it day by day, understanding more myself, <br />
the characters, the work, the ecology of the scene, and <br />
this is the effortless way, because I know it is meant to be <br />
effortless, at its best, writing, at its sweetest, at its most <br />
spiritual.<br />
<br />
So the conversation will come, but layer by layer, and <br />
patch by patch, line by line, connection by tightening by <br />
loosening, and so on.<br />
<br />
Writing is the way to grow, and growing is the way to write.<br />
<br />
Forgive me if this is obvious or vague or mad.<br />
I’m writing it to be a more free writer, enjoy writing<br />
more, in new ways, and may it help others do the same.<br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i>Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-56372176939648124792012-12-10T16:18:00.000-08:002012-12-10T16:18:03.336-08:00A man, a white hat on his face <i></i><br />
naps on the hill alongside<br />
the freeway, a patch <br />
of sun lighting him <br />
like a sign, one knee up. <br />
Bright winter grass springs <br />
all around him three days <br />
after the rains. <br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i>Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-80979981287949419162012-11-02T14:52:00.001-07:002012-11-02T14:52:46.322-07:00I INHERITED A MIXED ANIMAL FROM UNCLE LIVING IN WOODS, Chapter 1.<i></i><br />
In Rusty Barnes' <i>Fried Chicken and Coffee</i>...<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.friedchickenandcoffee.com/2012/11/02/i-inherited-a-mixed-animal-from-uncle-living-in-woods-novel-excerpt-from-richard-martin/">I Inherited a Mixed Animal, Chapter the First</a><br />
<br />
My Uncle Leonard was a hermit who lived alone in the Unconscious Forest his entire life. Unc had a sack of money stashed away, and when he went to meet his Maker he left every penny to my little sister Shane. He left me, a full grown man, a rusty bicycle and a busted set of drums. I don’t mean he <i>left </i>me a full grown man, I mean I <i>am </i>a full grown man. So why would he leave me a load of childish junk instead of cold hard adult cash?...Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5427443729044349473.post-38720872689145659802012-10-10T11:17:00.000-07:002012-10-10T19:39:29.957-07:00JUST SIT (2 ways to meditate).<i></i><br />
There are a million ways<br />
but I find I use two<br />
<br />
First, of course, I sit<br />
<br />
Then:<br />
<br />
1. I let my mind go where it wants, <br />
where it will<br />
It journeys many many places<br />
big & small<br />
& then <br />
after ten minutes<br />
or so, it returns & goes, <br />
"Oh, that was nice,<br />
here I am"<br />
<br />
2. I use a technique, say, focusing <br />
on my breathing, <br />
to corral my thoughts by controlling<br />
my body<br />
& then<br />
after ten minutes or so<br />
the technique relaxes<br />
by itself & goes<br />
"Here you are"<br />
<br />
Whichever way I choose for that morning<br />
either freedom from technique<br />
(unless freedom is a technique)<br />
or technique<br />
<br />
I find myself<br />
after ten minutes<br />
or so<br />
in the same exact place<br />
of peace, gatheredness, quiet, <br />
stillness, clearness<br />
<br />
Hmmm<br />
<br />
So, it must be the sitting <br />
<br />
Just sit<br />
<br />
Kafka said something about<br />
if you just stay in one place<br />
just sit<br />
the whole world will come to your door<br />
will pass by<br />
<br />
I believe meditation is like that<br />
& one day<br />
I will pass me by<br />
& go "Hi"<br />
& nod<br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i>Richard Martin....http://www.blogger.com/profile/16273600795077303960noreply@blogger.com1