Jonathan Carroll's Blog, page 5

Her Maps

“Her mind was like a drawer crammed with ancient hand drawn maps, all of them full of marvels, monsters and mistakes. Much of what they depicted was wrong or ‘off’ but in the most original fascinating ways.”

from a new work

Her Maps was originally published in Jonathan Carroll on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Your Sillage

In life we pass through so many doors and close them behind us, sometimes with an angry slam, sometimes just a gentle click. Moving on, we rarely think about most of the people we left behind — what they did or how they ended up after we left. But they do carry on.It can be enlightening or at least very surprising in both good and bad ways to learn how much of an affect we had on some of them and the direction their lives took after we were gone.The French word ‘sillage’ means the scent of pe...

Your Untrustworthy Companion

‘People want life to be their friend. Some even expect or believe they deserve it. But I think of life only as a companion, and an unpredictable one at that. If it were my friend, life would be hurting or disappointing me all the time. But if it’s only a companion, we’re just traveling the same road together. I’m happy when it’s in a good or generous mood, but I don’t expect anything from it.
“Most of the time we have the ability to make ourselves content or at least comfortable. We shouldn’t...

Sidewalk Metaphor

Out for a Sunday morning walk when the town is sleeping and empty. Motoring along, I see big plops of dog shit all across the sidewalk ten meters in front of me. Shaking my head at the thoughtlessness of the dog owner, I think be careful you don’t step in it. But getting closer I see it isn’t dog poop, but a bunch of scattered rose petals.

Big smile while thinking oh man, there are ten great metaphors about this whizzing through my head right now.

Sidewalk Metaphor was originally published in J...

What The Nose Remembers

perfume bottles by Perfumer H, London

The founder of a famous perfume/cologne brand has an interesting way of creating new scents for his company. He writes down what are to him important memories from his life. Then he goes to two of the most famous “noses” in the world, the actual chemists who create the scents, and describes these memories in detail. For example, he wanted a scent that evoked a certain period of his childhood in India. The perfumers set to work finding specific scents that...

Memories that go Boo!

I like how sometimes old old memories sneak up behind you like naughty children and go BOO! Of course making you jump. Today while out for a walk I remembered something from decades ago that made me grin ear to ear.

Just after THE LAND OF LAUGHS was published I was visiting an aunt I liked very much but rarely saw because she lived far away. As a present I brought her an early copy of my first published novel, lovingly inscribed to her. As a surprise, she had invited a famous novelist she knew...

The Word Police

Some people should not be allowed to use certain words or phrases after having constantly abused or misused them, resulting in catastrophes of broken hearts, mistrust, or just plain black havoc. Punish them like the creeps who are banned from owning dogs because they have ugly histories of mistreating the poor animals.

You are banned from saying things like ‘I love you’ or ‘trust me’ because too many times you’ve said them without meaning them or, by your subsequent actions, betraying the very...

Be Careful of Your Tusks

There is a wild pig called the babi rusa. Its tusks are so long and curved that they often grow back in towards the head, pierce the skull and kill the animal. When I read about this oddness, I immediately thought of people I know who may not have tusks, but have said or done things so unwise or self-defeating that these things ultimately, almost inevitably curved back in on their lives and killed important parts of them or their souls.

Be Careful of Your Tusks was originally published in Jona...

Alligators and their Marshmallows

If I was a poet, I would write a poem about what I learned the other day: alligators love marshmallows. I would think of one big fat atomic bomb metaphor linking that bizarrely wonderful image to something bone crushingly human so that whoever read it would have to go Wow! or else not have a pulse. But I’m not a poet, so I’ll just leave you with that dangerous hilarious oxymoron to think on while you go about your day — alligators love marshmallows.

Alligators and their Marshmallows was origin...

Museum Ours

When a love goes bad or dies, it changes from being a breathing nurturing part of our every day to an artifact that gets placed in the museum of me. However beautiful or rich it once was, it is no longer alive except in memory — under glass or in a frame, airless. Museums are fine to visit, but they can also be oppressive, dull and static. Some of the beauty kept there is admirable, but after a while I always want to go back outside to the light and the land of the living.

Museum Ours was orig...