CarrollBlog

CarrollBlog 10.7

2008-10-07T06:33:43Z

A great Rilke poem from AP:

God Speaks to Each of Us

God speaks to each of us before we are,
Before he's formed us then, in cloudy speech,
But only then, he speaks these words to each
And silently walks with us from the dark:

Driven by your senses, dare
To the edge of longing. Grow
Like a fire's shadowcasting glare
Behind assembled things, so you can spread
Their shapes on me as clothes.
Don't leave me bare.

Let it all happen to you:: beauty and dread.
Simply go no feeling is too much
And only this way can we stay in touch.

Near here is the land
That they call Life.
You'll know when you arrive
By how real it is.

Give me your hand.

- Rainer Maria Rilke

CarrollBlog 10.6

2008-10-06T07:14:09Z

Now
by Greg Watson

I told you once when we were young that
we would someday meet again.
Now, the years flown past, the letters
unwritten, I am not so certain.

It is autumn. There are toothaches hidden
in this wind, there are those determined
to bring forth winter at any cost.
I am resigned to dark blonde shadows

at stoplights, lost in the roadmaps of leaves
which point in every direction at once.
But I am wearing the shirt you stitched
two separate lifetimes ago. It is old

and falling to ash, yet every button blooms
the flowers of your design. I think of this
and I am happy, to have kissed
your mouth with the force of language,

to have spoken your name at all.

CarrollBlog 10.5

2008-10-05T11:41:43Z

There was an interesting article in a US newspaper about the last days of a very famous European writer. He lived an astonishing life-- survived the Nazi years, worked as a diplomat in Paris after the war before moving to the US where he taught at a famous university for years, etc. In his old age he won the Nobel prize for literature, and finally returned in triumph to his homeland to live out his last days as a god touted and adored by the whole country. But the gist of the article was that all he was obsessed with at the end of his life, in his 90's, was where he would be buried. He wanted a place in a famous castle burial ground, the equivalent of Poet's Corner in London's Westminster Abbey. But the authorities said no and he knew that before he died. Having lived an amazing event filled Cinerama life like that, almost 100 years old, Nobel Prize, survived the Nazis... but all you're concerned about at the end is where your bones will end up. It left me shaking my head. No matter where you are, it is never enough.

CarrollBlog 10.4

2008-10-04T15:23:50Z

The old woman comes up to me on the street and says without hesitation "Paulie died."
I don't know what she's talking about, but a second later I recognize both her and what she means. She and her ancient dog Paulie used to walk around the neighborhood for what seemed like hours. He barely moved but she was all right with that. I'd see them out early in the morning and late at night always inching along, Paulie sniffing here and there, checking things out you know he had already checked out ten thousand times in his life.
"How old was he?"
"Eighteen. He just didn't wake up one morning."
I waited a moment and then said as gently as I could, "Well, eighteen is a good long life."
"He always liked you."
"He did?"
"Yes, I know he was always glad to see you. He thought of you as a friend."
I want to say something but don't know what. I manage a "thank you."
She nods and walks away.

CarrollBlog 10.3

2008-10-03T07:52:55Z

a really good clip from ML. If you like it, there's a part two too:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8JIz7I5yzwQ

CarrollBlog 10.2

2008-10-02T05:17:58Z

The American poet Hayden Carruth died this week.
N sent this in, one of his most famous poems, asking if it could be posted in his memory.

Scrambled eggs and whiskey
in the false-dawn light. Chicago,
a sweet town, bleak, God knows,
but sweet. Sometimes. And
weren't we fine tonight?
When Hank set up that limping
treble roll behind me
my horn just growled and I
thought my heart would burst.
And Brad M. pressing with the
soft stick and Joe-Anne
singing low. Here we are now
in the White Tower, leaning
on one another, too tired
to go home. But don't say a word,
don't tell a soul, they wouldn't
understand, they couldn't, never
in a million years, how fine,
how magnificent we were
in that old club tonight.
-------------------
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VhDRVKDcXQo

CarrollBlog 10.1

2008-09-30T16:48:24Z

So much has been happening lately that I’d like to share some of it:

1.) The Ghost in Love is now shipping!
You can also order it here: http://www.amazon.com/Ghost-Love-Novel-Jonathan-Carroll/dp/0374161860

2.) To celebrate the release, we have launched a brand new trailer.
You can view it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vaadiIAac_Y

3.) In the sad light of Paul Newman’s passing, I wrote an article for the Huffington Post about my encounter with him. You can read it here: http://feeds.feedburner.com/Carrollblog?format=xml
or here:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jonathan-carroll/post_196_b_130505.html

4.) The countdown has begun to my US book tour in October. I very much look forward to seeing you there.

CarrollBlog 9.30

2008-09-29T17:00:43Z

I wrote this last weekend after hearing Paul Newman had died. A number of you asked that I reprint the piece I had written some years ago, THE HUSTLER, SMOKING, which is also about Newman. But after thinking about it, I decided to write something new. This article will be published online at The Huffington Post (huffingtonpost.com) some time this week.

I met Paul Newman on the set of THE HUSTLER, a film my father had written the screenplay for. I was a boy and quickly bored by the slow going of a movie set. What I remember most about that day was every time Newman had a break in filming he would come over, sit down nearby, and perform goofy tricks for me. He smoked Salem cigarettes and must have done four different tricks with the pack alone. I was mesmerized and thought this was the greatest guy in the room. The fact he was around the corner from becoming the most famous movie star in the world meant nothing to me. That day he was your favorite uncle who whenever he appears, is full of jokes and tricks and wonders just for you.

A couple of years later I was in Los Angeles on the 4th of July. My family went to a party given by a friend of Newman’s. The actor arrived that day with a bunch of his children. He had on a bright orange flight suit—the kind jet pilots wear. Even then I thought how cool it was for a guy to wear that on just any day. I waved to him but he didn’t wave back. There were a lot of people at the party and he disappeared into the crowd.

Half an hour later someone touched me on the shoulder and before I had a chance to turn around he said, “Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve got firecrackers. Want to go shoot them off?” Fireworks of any kind are sex to 12 year old boys, so I would have gone with Dracula if he’d had some. But turning around I saw that great orange suit and off we snuck. He knew exactly where he wanted to go—way down back in a field behind the house. It was just the two of us and we trotted to get there, he was in such a hurry. He kept looking at me and grinning—two adventurers off on a secret mission.

When we got to the spot, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a bunch of small firecrackers. He lit one, tossed it and we jumped back. It exploded with a great loud satisfying BAM! He handed the next one to me along with the pack of matches. I lit mine and it immediately blew up in my hand. Both of us stood stunned, staring. I don’t remember if it was blackened or bloody, but something must have been wrong because Newman immediately snatched me up, threw me over his shoulder and ran full speed for the house. I was fine. No big deal. Hands washed and a couple of Band Aids later I went back to the party.

Paul Newman running with a kid on his shoulder, only a father then, scared the boy was hurt, ready to do anything to make it better. That’s how I will remember him.
___________________
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jonathan-carroll/post_196_b_130505.html

CarrollBlog 9.29

2008-09-29T06:32:54Z

Youth
by W.S. Merwin

Through all of youth I was looking for you
without knowing what I was looking for

or what to call you I think I did not
even know I was looking how would I

have known you when I saw you as I did
time after time when you appeared to me

as you did naked offering yourself
entirely at that moment and you let

me breathe you touch you taste you knowing
no more than I did and only when I

began to think of losing you did I
recognize you when you were already

part memory part distance remaining
mine in the ways that I learn to miss you

from what we cannot hold the stars are made
-------------------------
"I have many strengths, and one of them is that I can take pain, not give pain. I don’t consider anyone who can give pain brave, I consider anyone who can take pain brave. That is why I consider a woman a stronger gender because she can take much more pain than a man.”

Asif Ali Zarari, the new president of Pakistan

CarrrollBlog 9.27

2008-09-27T10:37:23Z

In a perfume store, he sprayed a new men's cologne onto the back of his hand and sniffed it. Fantastic! A beautiful, exotic smell. He had to buy it. But he remembered how often in the past he had done just that and been disappointed. So he waited a while and sniffed his hand again. Ooh, not so good. Then a few minutes later and he liked it even less. Now that it had had a chance to dry on his hand and mix with his body chemistry, the cologne smelled like insect spray. He thought it's just like the experience of encountering certain people: The first time you meet them you think they're fabulous-- what a personality, they're so good looking, so funny, etcetera. But the longer you knew them and the longer you spent in their company, the more they came to smell like bug spray.
----------------------
http://www.ninakatchadourian.com/languagetranslation/sortedbooks.php

CarrollBlog 9.26

2008-09-26T07:08:45Z

Thanks to NG for sending me to Amazon.com to see the first reader's review of THE GHOST IN LOVE. It's so well written and thoughtful that I put it here with thanks to the reviewer:

Jonathan Carroll's whimsical and wistful fantasy on the human condition wittily and insightfully explores many introspective topics, among them life, death, the power of love, and most importantly, who and what we are. Each of us is an amalgamation of various attributes, but for our particular discussion, primarily a disparate blending of individual memories and personality traits. Carroll portrays memories as actual living breathing entities, snippets of time that can be replayed and relived, with our present disposition being a collective and delicate balance of these memories, and thus ourselves, at different stages of our lives. As far as our traits are concerned, he takes the generic term "the personification of evil" literally, creating actual human beings that are physical representations of various aspects of our makeup, with many of them fighting among themselves for dominance or harmony, all with the principal intent of helping us to better understand ourselves. The point implied is that we can be our own worst enemy. Everyday is a constant emotional struggle between serenity and chaos, with one never knowing which side will win out, which directly segues into the major theme of taking control of our lives and our destinies. Despite this focus on conflict, the story is undeniably a poignant and spirited affirmation of life and love, with its positive spirit being infectious. No one said life was easy. It is not a world of universal verities, with most of us needing to live and learn as we travel down this wondrous yet perilous journey. We must all choose our own individual paths, but while at it, do it with gusto. While reading Carroll's fable, it was difficult at times making sense out of the nonsensical, but that just may have been his intention, and in the process creating an appropriate metaphor for life itself.

CarrollBlog 9.25

2008-09-25T15:06:27Z

A couple come out of a candy store. Both of them have small bags of M&M candies in their hands. Both of them tear off a corner. The man brings his bag up to his mouth and empties a big load into it. The woman reaches into her bag, takes out what looks like one blue candy and puts it in her mouth. She chews it for some time. In the meantime the guy finishes his first load, brings the bag up to his mouth and empties into it all that's left. His cheeks bulge and he chomps down. Having finished her one M (& M), the woman reaches in and takes out one more. The guy crumples up his bag and tosses it.

I realize I have just witnessed one of the profound differences between the sexes.

CarrollBlog 9.24

2008-09-24T15:49:37Z

Marcello Mastroianni was once asked how many films he had been in. The great actor thought a moment and said, "I'm not sure-- over a hundred." The interviewer then asked "How many of those films were any good?" Mastroianni said, "A few-- ten maybe." "But why would you spend years making bad films? Why not wait till a good script comes along and then make one that's worthy?" Smiling and unaffected by the insult, Mastroianni asked the journalist, "Do you like what you do? Do you like writing?" The journalist said yes. "Well, I like acting. I would rather act than not act. Why should I sit around waiting for a good script when in the meantime I can be doing what I like now? Do you wait until only good article assignments come before you write? I doubt it. If you like to write then you write the best way you know how about everything. Some of it is good and some of it is bad. But all of it is what you want to do with your life."

CarrollBlog 9.23

2008-09-23T15:54:59Z

These people who never seem to stop talking always fascinate me. Two young mothers with baby carriages get on the bus, chattering away to each other. They talk without pause for ten minutes and then one gets off. As soon as the doors close and the bus pulls away, the remaining mother starts talking to her child who is so young that it can't even goo-goo answers back. But that doesn't stop Mom so long as she has a captive audience. She keeps talking to the baby until she pulls a cellphone out of her pocket and makes three phone calls one right after the other in the time she has left before her stop. Coincidentally a few hours later, I am on the same bus line going in the other direction and who should get on but chatty Mom. What is she doing as she enters the bus? Talking on her phone. Whenever I encounter one of these motor mouths I cannot help think how does their partner deal with it? Do they ignore them? Or do they actually listen and respond to this 24/7 barrage? Maybe they somehow create a psychic screen that shuts their mates' white noise out for periods of time.

CarrollBlog 9.22

2008-09-22T17:44:14Z

"You can't get to wonderful without passing through all right."

A very nice clip from SS:

http://www.wisdombook.org/