thank you, Viggo
"I really believe that 98% of creation is accident, one percent is intellect and one percent is logic. You have to make the accidents work for you."

Being Viggo Mortensen

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"Being Viggo Mortensen, anyone?" i joked yesterday, thinking especially of the shower scene in Being John Malkovich (now that starts a funny little movie playing in my head) * now, awake at 4 in the morning, having just broken one of my beautiful wine glasses pouring myself water in the dark, thoughts (along with that ever-present, honestly welcome feeling i describe with another favorite joke made frequently by a favorite friend way back in high school: i'm not too bright y'know) are crowding out sleep, so i went for my clipboard & pencil (turning the light on this time) * i'm happy for the excuse to write on paper, though it doesn't seem to be saving me any words * when i was in college i had the lucky gift of a marvelous professor to go with a "self-taught" class in which my friend & i made a little book of erotica (curious?) * he kept telling me to use less words & telling her to use more * i got into the habit of writing my poems in the font i'd invented (or that had flowed out of me easily -- none have followed), which slowed my hand & calmed my mind * as i have always been a perfectionist, if i goofed on the final copy i had to start again so i learned to work with the accidents * writing it over & over again -- slowly, thoughtfully -- was good for the poems too * writing by hand with that font changed the whole process (as does the computer, in a faster, wordier way) -- maybe i should take it up again * but hey, it's 4:30 am okay? i'm allowed to ramble * this is my playground anyway: my linger-y, wander-y free zone * it may be a thank you for Viggo, but it's mine & in the end (or maybe it's the beginning?) i do it for myself *

back to Viggo, whose soothing sweet strong challenging eyes gaze out at me as i write, lounging in my bed with the clipboard propped on one knee, puppy at my feet * the thought comes to me now, the thought a hundred thoughts ago that made me go for my clipboard in the first place, is that there must be something awful about having so many people directing so many thoughts your way * i'm sure that if the flesh & blood Viggo could hear all the one-sided conversations the imagined Viggo hears, all over the world, he'd run screaming into the woods & never come back *

now i'm thinking, do i really talk to him? out loud & all? do i talk to a fricken poster? "Am I a photograph / you gaze at in / moments of weakness?" ...no, Viggo, for me it's moments of strength * yes, obviously i do * lookit this site for fek's sake * but it's almost always the same 3 words: thank you, Viggo * thank you for keeping me at my computer late working on my own art & for bringing me back to it at 4 the next morning * thank you for sending a new friend my way * i know that Viggo Mortensen doesn't do these things, but to me it's all part of the same endless hungry inspiration * i also thank him for the things he does do: for having such eyes, such a voice heart spirit & for sharing * i know he doesn't do it for me * i don't care * i wouldn't want him to -- i like that he does them for himself (okay, if Viggo wrote me a poem or sang me a song or gave me a picture that would be ...real nice) *

i was trying to think if i had to give up all but one of Viggo's many art forms, which would it be? books, recordings, movies... i wouldn't even wanna give up the poster!

9:20 am
9:20 am: treetops by the Willamette River -- photo by Sienna, June 2004
10:08 am
10:08 am: treetops by the Willamette River -- photo by Sienna, June 2004

when i made that joke yesterday i was trying to explain that i love his voiceless recordings almost (i can't help it) as much as the ones he sings whispers murmurs mumbles spits out * i love the ones without his voice in them because i can imagine him getting lost in the music & i bet it feels real good * i imagine him standing barefoot -- sitting on the floor, lying back in the dark -- with his eyes closed but full of colors, riding the sound waves away from the screaming throngs, away from the endless interviews, away from the popcorn-scented graveyard, away from the poem thieves & the autograph hounds... away from himself -- or deeper into it * it makes me smile * i'm glad that he gives himself moments like that -- & gad, i'm glad he shares them!


9 Junio 2004

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last updated 9 June 2004 :: 10:07 am Caspar (Pacific) time
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