for some, words don't come easy. they struggle out of the amorphous depths, without clear purpose, only wanting out. and yet, after their impossible struggle to slowly inch their way up a larynx, and shape themselves through the boxing of the voice and the curl of the tongue and the gate of the teeth, for some, the words come out tired or even dead on arrival. like cane toads emerging from the underground in the swollen rains, only to be quashed thoughtlessly the moment they step out on the roads of common communication.

in the light of day, under the heat of scrutiny, those who live abovegrounds, comfortable with superficial and idle chatter, they note the stink, they comment on the way the toad-words look as though they were made to be crushed, pink tongue sticking out as though to participate in some cosmic joke... but no one thinks much of them, or the message that they may have inchoately attempted to give the world. like marathon, the first runner to give that race a name, with a message no one cared to receive; even if someone died in the process.

***

i have come to the conclusion that my words are dark and call to mind some ugliness within or beneath that people don't want to think about. or, my words are like crushed toads that people idly comment on and ignore.

i have been thinking about what people like to hear. i have tried to read works that have been more "well-received." i can appreciate the writings of others, but not always, and i think that in some cases, what is "well-received" has just been "well-packaged" or "well-promoted." in any case, i don't resonate with everything...

and i guess that's the point.

as a writer (or would be, or wanna be writer), there is a tension between a need to create a unique expression of one's inner self, and the need to reach others. if you rely too much on the former need, then you run the risk of solipsism, or at the very least, a myopic view of your world. if you rely too much on the latter, then you're commercial, you're superficial, you aren't yourself any longer.

i have tried to use my writing as a bridge. i have always relied on the basic hope that what i express from within is true, and, if received by the properly shaped emptiness in others, will find resonance. that was my dream, in any case. and, it seems, a few friends did find some degree of resonance; they appreciated what i was trying to do. they discovered the humanity within me, which i had been trying to communicate. and for that, i am grateful.

i suppose i should be happy with that. and i am. i suppose that, like many writers, i was getting greedy, and had this hidden seed planted within my head that my work would be accessible and interesting to many people. but i think i should have been more realistic. i think i should have known myself, and my writing, as other REAL people would see it.

i am thoroughly uninteresting and depressing. i struggle with art because, like the toad stuck in the well, something within wants out. there is no question of its ugliness or relevance for me (although i do try to "dress things up" to fit the conventions of literature). there is only the need to "out" myself, to "ex" plain myself.

people turn away. people are silent.

and why not? the world above is a competition for attention. it is a veritable cacophany. and this is as it should be. it is what keeps the world unstable and stable at the same time, this continual partiality of voice and partiality of listening. no one can contain the voice of the world. we pretend to, with this globalism, with this internet. but there is no voice, there is no one voice, there is not even a nexus or center. each speaks his own suffering and his own hope. we are all just empty boxes, and sometimes something in the world moves us. there is no pattern to this. there is no catching the wind.

it is my personal predilection, but i am always turning away from other people. inevitably unreliable. as i am. the only truth is the feeling and intuition that drives words and acts. and the only confirmation of truth is the occasional nod that you have made a difference, that you have helped to solve a problem, that you have expressed a feeling that someone else had. all nearly accidental, really... but although i turn away from others to hear myself, i live for that confirmation. it is the hope of the writer to be heard by a worthy ear.

***

the "nu'n honey" (my nickname for the h1n1) may have struck my wife. she has been suffering from a lot of intestinal issues this week. i stay up with her from about 2 in the morning. the daytime is kind of hard; it is hard to stay at full strength. somehow, i haven't caught what she has, or at least, i haven't been symptomatic...

last "night" we ate at hy's (using a gift certificate, and calling in a favor to babysit). it was nice. i had the "delmonico" (?), which was perhaps the best 14 oz. steak i have ever had. for me, the most important thing about steak is the "juiciness" and the tenderness. one thing i cannot stand is a dry piece of meat. and last night's was awesome. my wife had filet mignon, which was also pretty decent.

afterwards, lynn and i walked about waikiki. mildly interesting. i thought once more of the strange juxtaposition between these tourists who are here to relax, and these poor homeless-looking street performers or these people who have to hand out flyers to passers by, these people who you can tell are pretty desperate, and have to eke out their living doing crap... most of the street performers have something cute to offer... there is one guy who looks really creepy; he just stands there with this white gunk on his face, a blond wig, dirty clothes and an umbrella. he looks vaguely like the puppet doll from saw. and he just stands there. i don't know if people are supposed to feel sorry for him, or scared, or what. but he doesn't seem to get any money, no one wants to stop for him. and yet, he was there the last time i was in waikiki, a few weeks ago...

we went to the apple store. i might buy lynn a new macbook, especially because they have a deal where college students can get a new ipod touch with their purchase... it would be a small thing for my wife, who does so much for me.

***

well, the birds are all singing now, saying their good mornings to the world. i am feeling burnt from the inside from staying up with lynn. i should rest, at least for a half hour or so, before the demands of the day call me.