Sunday, March 29, 2009
I was rather shocked and heartbroken to read in the paper that in the month of March , Sylvia Plath & Ted Hughes' son Nicholas Hughes commited suicide, by hanging himself in his home in Alaska. People just don't realize how deadly an illness depression is. It's not just a simple case of get over it, it's a chemical disorder in the brain. I suffer from depression and have great compassion for those who suffer from it. Still I always wondered what knid of husband Ted Hughes was, he was a talented poet but I think rathe rhard on his women. For not only did Sylvia Plath kill herself by putting her head in the oven but so did his second wife Assia Wevill, who not only gas herself plus killed their three year old daughter as well! Damn, what a tragedy! Not certain of Ted Hughes relationship with his women, (he destroyed all the negative notes that his famous wife Sylvia wrote about their relationship) but he did chose some highly strung women. But who knows what goes on in matters of the heart and our souls. I only know that at times the darkest can grown so deep it feels impossible to ever find the light.
Did anyone miss me? My computer was down due to a virus! I took it to the Best Buys in Pasadena so that the brillant computer doctors of Geek Squad could cure the virus. It wasn't cheap, was $400! I had over 57 virus on the thing! But there was a silver lining to this headache. I started writing letters viva snail mail and found how realxing writing a letter long hand can be. When you do e-mail I sometimes faster than I think. But writing long hand, more thought comes with each stroke of my fountain pen. I can now understand why the writer Neil Gaiman, writes his works in long hand with a fountain pen. His prose has a Victorian's poetic lyric flow to it.
So ladies and gentlemen out on the world wide web, if you enjoy snail mail send me your snail mail address via my e-mail address and I'll be happy to write you. Truly. I find writing letters to be a great mental exercise.
Well, I'm back, hope someone out there on the world wide web missed me.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
I can't walk into a shop in Westv Hollywood that sells coffee or tea without seeing people at their laptops, working on that great American Screenplay. As I enjoyed my luncheon at Le Pain of white wine and a ham & cheese omelet, I sat among the Twittering maniacs, future screen-writers of the town , I read the book, a collection of letter of Simone De Beauvior.
Reading the newspapers these days is so bloody depressing that I'm suffering from heahaches. Even driving around the up scale neighborhoods of West Hollywood or Pasadena you see "Bank Owned" for sale signs, now I hear that FUIC insuring your cash in the bank is being over stress by so many banks going under.
Reading Ms. De Beauvoir's letters, telling the details of the nightmare of living in occupied France and getting up in the dead of night to throw on her robe and dash to the underground Metro and walking back out wondering if her apartment building had been bombed, made me realize, that things could be worst and that hard times can make us strong.
After all, this too will pass.