oh man, i like having a blog again. a place to just sort of let it all vomit out in a clumsy desperation of fabricated narrative, and why not, we're here to do what we're here to do.
even the buddha was simply following his dao.
but my curse from an early age is letters, and whether or not i'll ever produce something that "culture" determines has "value" or "merit" or whatever it is we call trade. there's the trick, there's the little lie, where they grab hold of you and wring your neck out for every last piece of soul candy. and let's face it, you try to write anything remotely attached to feeling in a lot of places, it's met simply with scorn. now, look, i'm no fucking saint, (maybe as evinced by my presence here, i mean, pro-fem as it is, it is part of the sex trade, which is fine in the sense that we're all trapped in capital, like, why can't a woman just be sexually liberated because she wants to be, why does economy ever have to come into it) i'm kind of rambling. i don't know if i mentioned but i took, like, a lot of fucking provigil yesterday, and man, let me tell you, it works. makes me want to try ... uh oh. let's hope i get no money. whatever, fuck it. this body's already so broken, might as well enjoy the end with glorious abuse.
anyway, what was i going on about, or was it just the sheer joy of typing something for nothing, as if it were important enough to read, as if any of us are important enough to really read. borges said that the universe was a library and that was a pretty good episode of doctor who, too. i don't think i really have a point. i'm kind of ready to go party but there' no where for a person like me to party for like six thousand miles and,,,
and i just said i felt like partying. that's fucked up. i'm an introvert, aren't i? the world weighs me down, right? fuck, i dunno. all i do know is that i keep thinking OH IT'S MORNING and then it isn't and its confusing and kind of neat.
today's wacky idea was to rewrite, mostly, books. isn't that an awesome idea? no, look, i'm not talking about creative cliffs notes versions. i'm considering making aesthetic changes to update the language so the ideas, which are BRILLIANT in these books, can be accessed by anyone.
then you encourage them to read the original text and what you thought the differences were.
actually, i was thinking with Babbitt you could just mainly take out the adjectives, sort of a gertrude stein version, but he was a pretty middling writer so things would simply be more clear. with the great gatsby, the work would be altered considerably, some say for the worse but i just can't help but think that the prose of fitz is really... it's just so flowery, so garish. occasionally it turns a brilliant phrase, and those phrases should remain. anyway, it's a dumb idea, but i like having them. hey, maybe i can put my dumb ideas into my short stories. that's what other writers do, right? to give their characters quirk.
i got nothin more. it's midnight but it might as well be bedtime (7? i don't like sleeping until the sun comes up) and i'll still probably go out if someone calls, which has about half a chance ot happening and god DAMN do i want to share a cigarette with someone right now
even the buddha was simply following his dao.
but my curse from an early age is letters, and whether or not i'll ever produce something that "culture" determines has "value" or "merit" or whatever it is we call trade. there's the trick, there's the little lie, where they grab hold of you and wring your neck out for every last piece of soul candy. and let's face it, you try to write anything remotely attached to feeling in a lot of places, it's met simply with scorn. now, look, i'm no fucking saint, (maybe as evinced by my presence here, i mean, pro-fem as it is, it is part of the sex trade, which is fine in the sense that we're all trapped in capital, like, why can't a woman just be sexually liberated because she wants to be, why does economy ever have to come into it) i'm kind of rambling. i don't know if i mentioned but i took, like, a lot of fucking provigil yesterday, and man, let me tell you, it works. makes me want to try ... uh oh. let's hope i get no money. whatever, fuck it. this body's already so broken, might as well enjoy the end with glorious abuse.
anyway, what was i going on about, or was it just the sheer joy of typing something for nothing, as if it were important enough to read, as if any of us are important enough to really read. borges said that the universe was a library and that was a pretty good episode of doctor who, too. i don't think i really have a point. i'm kind of ready to go party but there' no where for a person like me to party for like six thousand miles and,,,
and i just said i felt like partying. that's fucked up. i'm an introvert, aren't i? the world weighs me down, right? fuck, i dunno. all i do know is that i keep thinking OH IT'S MORNING and then it isn't and its confusing and kind of neat.
today's wacky idea was to rewrite, mostly, books. isn't that an awesome idea? no, look, i'm not talking about creative cliffs notes versions. i'm considering making aesthetic changes to update the language so the ideas, which are BRILLIANT in these books, can be accessed by anyone.
then you encourage them to read the original text and what you thought the differences were.
actually, i was thinking with Babbitt you could just mainly take out the adjectives, sort of a gertrude stein version, but he was a pretty middling writer so things would simply be more clear. with the great gatsby, the work would be altered considerably, some say for the worse but i just can't help but think that the prose of fitz is really... it's just so flowery, so garish. occasionally it turns a brilliant phrase, and those phrases should remain. anyway, it's a dumb idea, but i like having them. hey, maybe i can put my dumb ideas into my short stories. that's what other writers do, right? to give their characters quirk.
i got nothin more. it's midnight but it might as well be bedtime (7? i don't like sleeping until the sun comes up) and i'll still probably go out if someone calls, which has about half a chance ot happening and god DAMN do i want to share a cigarette with someone right now
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
rott3nappl3s:
mmmmm.... sixty-four slices of american cheese
iggy:
mmmmm forbidden donut...