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Baby
I used the word “baby” today the way I used to with Carmella. Actually, I use it a lot. That’s Carmella, the residue of my time with her. “Baby” = Carmella.
In the same way, I’ve absorbed something meaningful from every relationship. 1 mo. with Francis = Leonard Cohen. Thanks for Leonard Cohen, Francis. Two dates with David = My sketch-a-day-book. I heart the sketch-a-day diary. Meeting Ascha in Vt. = Maira Kalman. Never saw her again, but I’ve got Maira, and that’s enough.
In the meantime: I’ve read so much Anais Nin that I am predisposed to disliking Henry Miller. However much of a brute he could be, he knew how to WORK. And I love this quote:
“Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heartache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty. Every man, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. There is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, only to discover what is already there.”
-L.
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