With the recent passing of Sam Shepard, I've been thrown back into what really matters most to me. As I go through my life, all the ups and downs, all the circus clowns I've danced with, all the antenna poles I've climbed, there is no greater adventure (other than being a parent and having kids) as that spiritual aphrodisiac: the great ride of a book. I think of reading Henry Miller's "Colossus of Moroussi", my friend Gregory David Robert's brilliant "Shantaram", the time I slept in a boat port for a week in Topolopambo, Mexico and read Kerouac's "Tristessa" and "Mexico City Blues". I ate Ray Bradbury for breakfast when I was a kid, inhaled Rimbaud for lunch and studied Aurtaud's Theatre of Cruelty late into each night. It's been the book who has always been there. The great story. A cowboy sitting around a campfire setting up a coyote fiction for a bunch of marshmallow ballon-cheeked kids. Sam Shepard's "Dreams of Heaven". Stories I could fly on. Stories that made me feel free, and that made me feel my childhood was worth more than just somebody else's idea of how I was supposed to be. Books were a solace. Sherwood Anderson. Gogol. Joyce's letters to Nora. Wordsmithing. I once had a week intensive with Allen Ginsberg in Rochester, NY. He talked about the Beats and he sang William Blake song on a small little accordion. I hated it. I thought he was pretentious and, honestly, just fucking weird. But every time I went back to his writing, he transported me into another rhelm, another state that was like how I would imagine synesthetes experience life: a chaotic weaving of senses all melting together. In New York, I sat in my small empty apartment with one chair and six or seven books at my right on the floor, books I had randomly picked up at the bookstore, and I started to read, one after one just like that. A trip. A ride. Wind in my hair. A new girlfriend. Traveling through Greece. "I know this much is True": the brother. I've always loved paintings. Photographs move me to no end. But a great book. #read #awellreadamerica #downtime

joshbrolinさん(@joshbrolin)が投稿した動画 -

ジョシュ・ブローリンのインスタグラム(joshbrolin) - 8月4日 23時25分


With the recent passing of Sam Shepard, I've been thrown back into what really matters most to me. As I go through my life, all the ups and downs, all the circus clowns I've danced with, all the antenna poles I've climbed, there is no greater adventure (other than being a parent and having kids) as that spiritual aphrodisiac: the great ride of a book. I think of reading Henry Miller's "Colossus of Moroussi", my friend Gregory David Robert's brilliant "Shantaram", the time I slept in a boat port for a week in Topolopambo, Mexico and read Kerouac's "Tristessa" and "Mexico City Blues". I ate Ray Bradbury for breakfast when I was a kid, inhaled Rimbaud for lunch and studied Aurtaud's Theatre of Cruelty late into each night. It's been the book who has always been there. The great story. A cowboy sitting around a campfire setting up a coyote fiction for a bunch of marshmallow ballon-cheeked kids. Sam Shepard's "Dreams of Heaven". Stories I could fly on. Stories that made me feel free, and that made me feel my childhood was worth more than just somebody else's idea of how I was supposed to be. Books were a solace. Sherwood Anderson. Gogol. Joyce's letters to Nora. Wordsmithing. I once had a week intensive with Allen Ginsberg in Rochester, NY. He talked about the Beats and he sang William Blake song on a small little accordion. I hated it. I thought he was pretentious and, honestly, just fucking weird. But every time I went back to his writing, he transported me into another rhelm, another state that was like how I would imagine synesthetes experience life: a chaotic weaving of senses all melting together. In New York, I sat in my small empty apartment with one chair and six or seven books at my right on the floor, books I had randomly picked up at the bookstore, and I started to read, one after one just like that. A trip. A ride. Wind in my hair. A new girlfriend. Traveling through Greece. "I know this much is True": the brother. I've always loved paintings. Photographs move me to no end. But a great book. #read #awellreadamerica #downtime


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