Friday, July 16, 2010

on drunken writers

For the performer, body form and facial expressions are essential tools. The painter actively twists caps, mixes exact shades, and creates life out of brush strokes. The composer must play or hum, or put his ear to the floor. Oral storytellers have bright eyes and intuitive tongues. Only The Writer is without more than his brain, except maybe layout-his eyes weigh the density of white versus black. He writes pen to parchment in his woodsy cabin and his words are copied by someone with a finer hand. He sits at his chair and types. The font is then changed. He has no physical finesse. What matters to him is purely thought, memory and imagination.

All artists' tools need to be rested and relaxed. Dancers must massage and soak. Actors take off their costumes and wash their faces. Painters rinse their brushes and let them dry. Singers must be silent.

Alcohol might make the others sloppy, but with it, the writer has reined in his thoughts. He has confidence and hope where before, only infinity applied. A writer rubs his aching wrists, but what he needs is a tall drink of hazy gray.

Might I suggest a walk instead?

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