Just like with people that you meet, you connect with varying intensities. With this guy I am connecting strongly. It's not so much about similar experiences - it's more about his expression of his perception of his recollections and the easy going, dot-connecting retelling - that is comfortable and familiar. He has a poet's flow, a writer's eye for detail and an outsider's clarity of the bigger picture, told from a vantage point of complex feelings mixed with a slightly amused detachment.
White Out is the book and the dude's name is Michael W. Clune. I read his previous book - A Gamer's Life - and truly enjoyed it's honesty, perceptiveness and originality. Nothing showy, just his soul talking. I asked the library to get this one in and they did. On the same day that it arrived, so did Dave Eggers new one about an intrepid woman in a bomby campervan with her two young kids in Alaska and I started reading that first, having relished all his previous publications, especially Zeitoun. Alas, Alaska left me cold. Fifty pages in I started skipping. By ninety I was out of there. Open White Out and mmm.... yeah... inviting and familiar. I am a quarter way through. Savouring. (Which doesn't mean reading it slower.)
The embodiment/mimicking/temporary inhabiting of a character also happens sometimes with movies. I suppose it's not an uncommon thing. The voice gets in your head. It's not unpleasant. Like a visitor. With reverb. It lingers, sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours.
It has prompted me to transcribe my thoughts right here, now. I have not been as regular as usual with my logs. (I don't mean poos.) Truth is, I have been busy. I have been seduced in a way. Drawn away from my painting and writing for a time. And what has captured me? Kidnapped my imagination and siphoned off much of my creative output time?
Over the last six or seven months I have been building tunes on Garageband. Every day. In my usual focused, tunnel vision way, I have devoted myself to the audio invention process and completed over 120 new songs. It's been my little secret. I haven't wanted to speak of it, less it's power be dissipated. But now it's cool. My first CD has been pressed and will be released next month. It's called Lolipopman. Twenty tunes. A mixture of folk, pop, punk, spoken word, old white fella hip hop and ambient. It's a new work of art - just in musical form. The writing is still there - it's relatively abundant in lyrics - but the colours are now sounds. The concepts are compositions. For me, as a comparative novice in the music field it has been a delightful departure.
It has interfered with my comic, painting and writing output - but you can't do everything all at once. And these songs are like my newest fling. I am captivated.
There. Confession done. No more sneaking around, making excuses for my infrequent blog appearances. To apologise is unnecessary, but I have felt a little guilty some days. I like being here, translating my up-to-date thoughts and feelings and observations about art and the creative life. Free flowing the little white words on black background from my mind, through my fingers and onto the screen. I like communicating with my friends in the clouds, across the skies, who are, like me, swimming in alternating turgid and serene oceans of their own. I like our conversations. Even though they are more like monologues. But they're not. I can hear you listening. I feel connection. Just like when I read the words of Eggers or Clunes or Carver or Salter or whoever gets through to me and finds a welcome place in my evolving consciousness. I know I am at home with you sometimes. And it feels comfortable, even comforting. Echoes inside us. They lead us closer to our destination. Our every changing destination.