8:16 a.m. — Atlanta
listening to Harry Belafonte singing Kingston Market
Hello, all. We have a cool, grey day here. Go Autumn. Meanwhile, for your writing pleasure, I have eight statements made by author, Henry Miller:
The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware, joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware.
An artist is always alone — if [s]he is an artist. No, what the artist needs is loneliness.
The moment one gives close attention to any thing, even a blade of grass it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself.
Confusion is a word we have invented for an order which is not understood.
All growth is a leap in the dark, a spontaneous unpremeditated act without benefit of experience.
One can be absolutely truthful and sincere even though admittedly the most outrageous liar. Fiction and invention are of the very fabric of life.
If we are always arriving and departing, it is also true that we are eternally anchored. One’s destination is never a place but rather a new way of looking at things.
Chaos is the score upon which reality is written.
Okay? You may choose one, or combine a couple, or combine parts of several. You may respond to one, or part of one. You may set up a speaker who agrees, or disagrees, or it might be your own thoughts. You might also go totally off the grid because a couple of words remind you of that one winter, at the farm, when you got caught… so, yes, anything.
I shall see you Thursday for links and such; Friday for the prompts roundup; and next Tuesday for something I will have come up with.
Happy writing, everyone.