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Water Can Be A Symbol Of Purification, To Stand Naked Before Someone A Sign Of Truth, Of Nothing To Hide. - Nick Flynn

-Nick Flynn

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Water Can Be A

Nick Flynn

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Water Can Be A Symbol Of Purification, To Stand Naked Before Someone A Sign Of Truth, Of Nothing To Hide. - Nick Flynn

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Memoir Is Actually The Most Egoless Genre, Even Though It Might Seem Ostensibly So Much Ego-driven. In Order For It To Succeed, You Have To Dissolve The Self Into These Larger Universal Truths, And Explore These Deeper Mysteries. If It’s Purely Autobiographical And Ego-driven, It’s Going To Fail.

Inside Us, A Flower Taken Whole, A Field Built Inside.

Perhaps Everyone Has A Story That Could Break Your Heart.

By The Time I Make My Way To The Border Of Mauritania, To The Edge Of The Sahara, I See No End To Being Lost. You Can Spend Your Entire Life Simply Falling In That Direction. It Isn't A Station You Reach But Just The General State Of Going Down. Once You Make It Back, If You Make It Back, You Will Stand Before Your Long-lost Friends But In Some Essential Way They Will No Longer Know You.

I Became An Electrician After High School. But I Always Had This Thing In Me To Write. But It Was Always A Little Shameful. To Say You Were A Poet Was Saying You Were Kind Of Crazy, And I Carried That Around For A Long Time. I Still Kind Of Carry That. And I Think It Might Be True, Actually.

That Soldiers Do Terrible Things During Wartime Should Not Surprise Us.

By The Time I'm Nine I Know The World Is A Dangerous Place. I've Heard Whispers About Razorblades In Apples, About Charlie Manson And His Family. But No One Is Offering Any Clear Information.

Trinity Park Lies Directly Across From The Library, Trinity Church Rising Like A Midieval Thought Amidst The Glass And Steel Towers.

When I Was A Child, Writing Was The Worst Possible Choice Of A Career In My Family.

Water Can Be A Symbol Of Purification, To Stand Naked Before Someone A Sign Of Truth, Of Nothing To Hide. - Nick Flynn

Perhaps It Is Our Fear, That In The Silence Between Stories, In The Moment Of Falling, The Fear That We Will Never Find The One Story Which Will Save Us, And So We Lunge For Another, And We Feel Safe Again, If Only For As Long As We Are Telling It.

Some Part Of Me Knew He Would Show Up, That If I Stood In One Place Long Enough He Would Find Me, Like You're Taught To Do When You're Lost. But They Never Taught Us What To Do If Both Of You Are Lost, And You Both End Up In The Same Place, Waiting.

I Believe Poetry Has Very Little To Do With Memory.

Sometimes I'd See My Father, Walking Past My Building On His Way To Another Nowhere. I Could Have Given Him A Key, Offered A Piece Of My Floor. A Futon. A Bed. But I Never Did. If I Let Him Inside I Would Become Him, The Line Between Us Would Blur, My Own Slow-motion Car Wreck Would Speed Up. The Slogan On The Side Of A Moving Company Truck Read Together We Are Going Places--modified By A Vandal Or A Disgruntled Employee To Read Together We Are Going Down. If I Went To The Drowning Man The Drowning Man Would Pull Me Under. I Couldn't Be His Life Raft.

The First Book I Could Call Mine, My First Book, Was A Picture Book, The Magic Monkey - It Was Adapted From An Old Chinese Legend By A Thirteen-year-old Prodigy Named Plato Chan With The Help Of His Sister.

I Offer Emily Half Of My Hit Of Acid- Love Saves The Day. It's My Second Or Third Time Tripping, Emily's First, And She's Understandably Trepid. Awake All Night, At One Point I Find Her Touching Her Reflection In A Cruelly Lit Dorm Bathroom, Asking If She'll Ever Be The Same. I Kiss Her Then For The First Time And Whisper, No.

Change Is One Of The Only Constants In Buddhism; As Meditation Became The Way I Breathed In The Days, This Became Apparent.

Certain Stories We Carry With Us, Events In Our Life, They Define Who We Are. It's Not A Matter Of Getting Over Anything; We Have To Make The Best Of It.

We Got Him To Talk To A Psych Doctor Once, The Doctor Asked If He Heard Things Other People Don't. Sure, Paul Answered, I Hear Birds In The Morning When Everyone's Sleeping, I Hear Trees Rustling When No One's Around.

On A Good Day I Write, All Day.

Alcohol Is The River We Sit On The Banks Of, Contemplating. Sometimes We Watch Ourselves Float Past, Sometimes We Watch Ourselves Sink.

If It Had Been A Heart Attack, The Newspapermight Have Used The Word Massive,as If A Mountain Range Had Openedinside Her, But Insteadit Used The Word Suddenly, A Light Coming Onin An Empty Room. The Telephonefell From My Shoulder, A Black Parrot Repeatingsomething Happened, Something Awfula Sunday, Dusky. If It Had Beenterminal, We Could Have Cradled Heras She Grew Smaller, Wiped Her Mouth,said Good-bye. But It Was Sudden,how Overnight We Could Be Orphaned& The World Became A Bell We'd Crawl Inside& The Ringing All We'd Eat.

In Life You Get One Take, And It's Perfect. It's Strange, Afterwards You Might Think I Shouldn't Have Reacted That Way, But That's The Way You Reacted. That's Your Take; That's All You Get.

Read As Much As You Can. Write Only When You Feel The Inner Need To Do So. And Don’t Ever Rush Into Print.

The Attention One Gets From Being A Poet Isnt Great.

If You're Going To Write About Someone's Life, You Don't Just Use Them For Wallpaper. You Have To Honor And Respect That Life.

Honor And Respect

Writers, Especially Poets, Are Particularly Prone To Madness. There Exists A Striking Association Between Creativity And Manic Depression. Why Are More Creative People Prone To Madness? They Have More Than Average Amounts Of Energies And Abilities To See Things In A Fresh And Original Way—then Because They Also Have Depression, I Think They’re More In Touch With Human Suffering.

In My Experience, Whatever Happens Clings To Us Like Barnacles On The Hull Of A Ship, Slowing Us Slightly, Both Uglifying And Giving Us Texture. You Can Scrape All You Want, You Can, If You Have Money, Hire Someone Else To Scrape, But The Barnacles Will Come Back Or At Least Leave A Blemish On The Steel.

There Are Many Ways To Drown, Only The Most Obvious Wave Their Arms As They're Going Under.

Who Doesn't Want To Just Disappear, At Some Point In The Day, In A Year, To Just Step Off The Map And Float?

There Is A Physics To The World, Which Non-fiction Has A Contract To Stand In Awe Of, Otherwise It Becomes Completely Self-centered And Ego-driven, Which Is The Death Of A Memoir.

I Can Weep Pretty Easily. I Can Get Tears In My Eyes From A Beautiful Work Of Art.

Everything We Do, I'd Imagine, Influences Everything We Will Do.

Writers, Especially Poets, Are Particularly Prone To Madness.

I Get Inspired By My Friends, And If A Friend Is A Writer, That Is Even Deeper.

What You Fear Your Whole Life Comes To Pass. You End Up Living Toward It, You Spend Your Life Running From It But Your Foot Is Nailed To The Sidewalk. You Circle Around It Until You Wear Yourself Own.

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