Nick Flynn
Nick Flynn
Nick Flynnis an American writer, playwright, and poet. His most recent publication is The Reenactments, which chronicles Flynn's experience during the making of Being Flynn, a film based on his acclaimed 2004 memoir, Another Bullshit Night in Suck City. Flynn is also the author of three collections of poetry, including Some Ether, which won the inaugural PEN/Joyce Osterweil Award for Poetry in 1999, and was a finalist for the Los Angeles Times Book Prize...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth26 January 1960
CountryUnited States of America
Read as much as you can. Write only when you feel the inner need to do so. And don’t ever rush into print.
If it had been a heart attack, the newspapermight have used the word massive,as if a mountain range had openedinside her, but insteadit used the word suddenly, a light coming onin an empty room. The telephonefell from my shoulder, a black parrot repeatingsomething happened, something awfula sunday, dusky. If it had beenterminal, we could have cradled heras she grew smaller, wiped her mouth,said good-bye. But it was sudden,how overnight we could be orphaned& the world became a bell we'd crawl inside& the ringing all we'd eat.
Water can be a symbol of purification, to stand naked before someone a sign of truth, of nothing to hide. - Nick Flynn
inside us, a flower taken whole, a field built inside.
By the time I'm nine I know the world is a dangerous place. I've heard whispers about razorblades in apples, about Charlie Manson and his family. But no one is offering any clear information.
I offer Emily half of my hit of acid- Love Saves the Day. It's my second or third time tripping, Emily's first, and she's understandably trepid. Awake all night, at one point I find her touching her reflection in a cruelly lit dorm bathroom, asking if she'll ever be the same. I kiss her then for the first time and whisper, No.
Who doesn't want to just disappear, at some point in the day, in a year, to just step off the map and float?
There are many ways to drown, only the most obvious wave their arms as they're going under.
What you fear your whole life comes to pass. You end up living toward it, you spend your life running from it but your foot is nailed to the sidewalk. You circle around it until you wear yourself own.
Change is one of the only constants in Buddhism; as meditation became the way I breathed in the days, this became apparent.
I believe poetry has very little to do with memory.
I can weep pretty easily. I can get tears in my eyes from a beautiful work of art.
I get inspired by my friends, and if a friend is a writer, that is even deeper.
The attention one gets from being a poet isnt great.