“If you want to write, if you want to create, you must be the most sublime fool that God ever turned out and sent rambling. You must write every single day of your life. You must read dreadful dumb books and glorious books, and let them wrestle in beautiful fights inside your head, vulgar one moment, brilliant the next. You must lurk in libraries and climb the stacks like ladders to sniff books like perfumes and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads. I wish you a wrestling match with your Creative Muse that will last a lifetime. I wish craziness and foolishness and madness upon you. May you live with hysteria, and out of it make fine stories — science fiction or otherwise. Which finally means, may you be in love every day for the next 20,000 days. And out of that love, remake a world.”
- Ray Bradbury.
Back-lit, the shot-up window blizzards out
like a freeze-frame of first light hurtling
to make the universe.
Beautiful as the fireworks a bullet
might set off in the brain, so the instant
of dying is the instant of suns
bursting open. Beautiful as, in some lights,
your scan may be beautiful, dark and starred
with bright particles. Even my migraine
pyrotechnics, the dancing light etched
on my retina through a sleepless night
while I tossed and pictured you, pale
and silenced in the radiology room—glitter
triggered again by the shattered glass
at the church where I have gone
tonight to light candles for your body
slowly being eaten by its stars.
My eyes burn and blur in the dazzle
of so much breaking apart.
into nothing, this little plume I let go.” —
Read this poem. Feel free to thank me for bringing it to your attention when you’re done.