It's pretty much a 'fact of life' that authors these days are expected to maintain some kind of 'presence' in the blogosphere, whether through FB, Twitter, Tumblr or (like me) all of the above. What's important to remember, I think, is that far from being a chore, some of the best writing and reviews tend to show up in these outlets, which is really quite amazing in the way that all 'grassroots' movements tend to be, i.e., the enthusiasm is palpable and genuine (and usually quite friendly). I thought I'd take a moment to share a couple of recent posts (or extracts thereof from two of my tumblr friends), because well, they're both awesome and made me very happy to read.
This first one is from Joe The Lion, who's a fellow writer and poet (and lover of small animals) from New York City (as in born and raised). "What Matthew has done is taken a form, an operatic form fully grounded in certain folk melodies “everyone would come home at lunch to eat with the family” or something along those lines come home, come home, that accepts as its architecture magic and death, earth and absurdity, sex and art where the boundaries of that living body is the supreme grace of uncertainties and awakened power given to an emergent heart. Of course, you can find that in rock music. you can find that in a drunken, ridiculous and exuberant night out with friends, you can find that in denial even or the self-immolation that comes from being so afraid and disgusted by who you are (gay) and your desires (specially different) that you completely retreat, or systemic societal hatred of those desires, you can find that in the heartbreaking death of a beautiful little cat (i’m still crying) but you can hardly apply that to all things or if you do like i tend to there’s also that cautionary strangeness of all the moments of a lived life, of loving in a way which is outside of alchemical and formulaic immortality and which in it’s own practical, grounded dissonance refuses it. The Metropolis Case takes that moment (all of them), the second of time when despair and loss hits hardest, when the song of grace and love is hidden and still discernible behind fury, when nothing can or should help and offers a way of, if not being (i didn’t know this, but the hopi language has no verb to express the concept “to be,”) then of participation in life as Art. The gift of life as the immortal and unending moment, eternal. No hope. No wind. Sing your song of love and death. Patti Smith at several shows says, almost as an after-thought, “The Miracle is Love”. And if you are very lucky you live Life as inconsolable life, as it should be. My Bloody Valentine."
And this one is from Caitlin Podiak, a screenwriter and rabbit lover who lives in San Francisco: "I’m dumb about music. I can’t sing. I used to hide in the library when I was supposed to be in band class, because keeping time made me so miserably tense. I think I mostly listen to good music now, because Ed gives me good music to listen to and brings me to shows, but I’m not very good at appreciating it, I don’t think.
This has always been sort of a source of shame for me, and it’s weird because I’m so sensitive and perceptive and have such confident and discerning taste when it comes to art or literature or film or design or architecture or decor. It’s like my eyes are smart but my ears are stupid.
So anyway, I have never been one to lose myself in music. Books, on the other hand, feel like home. It’s always felt easy and natural to lose myself in a story.
I was worried that I’d find The Metropolis Case inaccessible, because it’s such a musical story. But instead, this book was like a gift for me, translating some of what my ears have been missing into a language I can understand.
It’s also beautiful, magical, funny, sad, and inspiring. You should definitely read it, if you haven’t already.
And this one's from Elektra: 'Why is it snowing so much this winter?'
(Click through for more pix of pets staring out the window at snow, which is a new tumblr.)
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