I saw the movie Basquiat (movie link) this week. And I guess seeing it while reeling with bronchitis is not a good idea. I was doing my own trip. My thoughts turned from doing heroin, too living in bohemia. Thinking what the hell was I doing in college when all “THIS” was going on and why wasn’t I part of it. Because you chose college stupid and were too young. Only by seven years.
Basquiat (artist’s site) was an artist during the eighties. And a line from the movie is haunting my mind. I see surfing in the skies and I wonder, ‘what year is this?’ when I still see racism.
I think the bohemian lifestyle appealed to me the most. I would love to walk down the streets in my pajama’s. To seriously not give a shit and to do as I felt, without hurting anyone, but just because I was moved by the moment.
I want to write or polish my short story. I finished one and my grammar sucks. It’s been so long since the fourth grade. But that shouldn’t stop me. There’s a book in me. I feel these stories, my mind is churning with characters and scenes and dialogue and I do nothing.
Am I lazy? Right now I’m just sick. So I’ll concentrate on that and get over this right now. I keep looking for distractions from being caught up in my illnesses. When one stares me right in my face, one I love. If not now, when? Maybe never.
No one I’ve shown my short story too doesn’t like it and they’re not just being nice. I have asked them for only negatives. I’ve gotten some and went back and made changes. I even managed to write a short paragraph to add to the story. I need to fill in some spaces with more descriptive writing, but I can do that.
Part of me wants to jump onto the next story, but I need this one to feel complete.
And a course on grammar.
Still working on bronchitis, head not too clear. Still seeing surfers in the skyline and smiling.