Exile

… in Naugahyde

I’m inspired these days… watching old movies, reading… writing on an airplane—don’t be afraid… no one’s looking over your shoulder… just write… who cares… stop worrying… just be you… no one’s judging… and it’s most likely your imagination—paranoia.

The hardest words to write or say… are usually the best ones… that’s what a writer is—the one who can spit it out… while others are the shy ones.

I want to tell you a Sam Shepherd style story… a girl, a dog… the road, a motel… an El Camino… heartache… youth… madness, and passion, a drifter—a child marinated in violence… sees the world through a warped lens.

I shouldn’t be here—I have some nerve… who do I think I am?

I’m playing with fire…

… driving away… down a long dirt road… to write solo in a cabin—untamed… unloved… unforgiven.

… a hot running bathtub… a kettle and a handful of flowers, a record player, and a few records and books to trade in at the thrift shop.

Jim Jarmusch’s Coffee and Cigarettes… The Blues, according to Lightnin’ Hopkins…

Even Grace Kelly drove James Cagney nuts in Alfred Hitchcock’s rear window… she was too perfect, beautiful, there was nothing ‘wrong’ with her—sexy is imperfect… raw, curious… this was interesting to me and caught my imagination… while we yearn for our lovers’ approval, put our best foot forward… sometimes we dig a hole… it’s too much work… and can become resentment… even anger.

Blues, Jazz…

… it’s the imperfections from a life of heartache and obstacles that are human… and what is attractive, relatable… vulnerable… real… Less interested in the conquest or the chase, but survival, an art project… what are we willing to be… now that the dust has settled?

Dostoevsky… 

I love poetry and words… ‘inspired’ is the one word that might describe me—I grew up around poets, mythology, and nature—I wasn’t sure what to make of it all… but at a tender age, it all left me frozen in mid-air, suspended…

I see it now… 

My focus is finally on new artistic adventures—unraveling a kind of beauty that others may not see at first, demanding a new kind of attention, layers—let the chips fall… I want to see what I’m made of…

“Can I handle the seasons of my life…”

- Stevie Nicks 

It is rare to catch one’s self… and dive into the mysterious abyss—full force.

This is my life… my contribution to humanity and hope. I have a responsibility to be honest, different than anyone else…

Rossellini, 
Bergman, 
A volcano…
You can’t always see and hear…

Love,

P