An Old Diary

Another happy hectic day today at the hollow ships.

I was going to write something here about Anais Nin but I'm too tired and I can't concentrate!

Instead, I'm just going to paste a sort of old diary note that I just found. I wrote it on the 5th of July 2010 when I was living in New York. I had recently quit my advertising job and was spending a lot of time wandering around a la Henry Miller and muttering 'I no longer think I'm an artist, I am an artist' (Tropic of Cancer). 

It's (nice?) (Terrifying?) to see that I'm still the same pretentious wally that I was at 28! 

It's also interesting to read the note back and remember that I spent a lot of 2009-2010 reading Lawrence Durrell's Alexandria Quartet and, apparently, trying to sound as pompous and 'interesting' as he can.. (Durrell was a close friend of Henry Miller - see it all come's back to Miller eventually..)

Also nice to remember the Carmine street pool - I miss going there for a swim every morning..!

Keith Haring with his mural at the Carmine Street Pool, NYC

It's a holiday today, the closest Monday to July 4th. The city has emptied leaving the tourists to fend for themselves. A baking heat floods the streets. Lethargy has crept in a little over the last week and I haven't written much of anything at all. It's lethargy and not writer's block though, ideas raise their heads here and there, but I can't lift the pen. 

I rushed from McNally Jackson bookstore to Housing Works books hoping to find a cheap copy of Dylan Thomas' poetry today but hit a dead end. Instead I read Camus' essay ' The Myth of Sisyphus'. I'm hoping that this will open new doors for 'Death Ship'.*

I found a first edition of a collection of short stories by Anais Nin.

I watched a film called 'Innocent Voices' about the civil war that took place in El Salvador.

I spend most of my days at the open air swimming pool on Carmine street. The pool has a large mural painted by Kieth Haring in 1987 and a Library next door.

I read 'The Prospector' by JMG Le Clezio.

I walked from Prince street to 77th street.

* I remember trying to write a story called 'Death Ship'  which was supposed to be me telling the world how rubbish having a job is and, I suppose, sticking it to the man. I forgot that 'The Death Ship' is already a novel by the writer B.Traven (a very interesting writer and definitely worth a google). I also forgot to actually write it...

Well, more soon!