"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
I'm pretty good at using other people's words. If only I could demonstrate the same diligence with my own...
Monday, February 1, 2010
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Twentyten.
"This is what I thought: for the most banal even to become an adventure, you must (and this is enough) begin to recount it. This is what fools people: a man is always a teller of tales, he sees everything that happens to him through them; and he tries to live his own life as if he were telling a story.But you have to choose: live or tell." - Jean-Paul Sartre
Monday, September 14, 2009
Home sick.
In lieu of my sickness, I've spent my Monday consuming bad movies inbetween shallow naps. This adaptation of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet is pretty abysmal (as most films taken directly from Shakespeare tend to be), but it'd be a pity to not acknowledge the magnificence of the Capulet aesthetic. Sadly, this is the only decent still I could google with the little finger strength I possess right now. If only I could find a photo of Abra, Tybalt's wingman, and his custom platinum grill (which reads "SIN" in all caps)...
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Painting a Room.
“I want to paint a room with someone.”
“So paint your room!”
“No,” I said, “I want to paint a room with someone else. I want to wake up early and get coffee and take the subway to Home Depot. I want to have already pre-planned our color scheme so we know to look for cool or warm shades. I want to argue over paint swatches, laugh at the mustard yellows and pale pinks that remind us of our childhood bedrooms. I want to annoy the other person by asking strangers for advice. I want to settle on a marigold or maybe some kind of bright green teal. I want to look the list we wrote together so we remember to get big rollers, little brushes, the tray you slosh the paint around in, tarps, and duct tape, and that gummy painters tape. I want the other person to suggest we get aprons that we can use for our next project. I want to kiss them when they say that. I want to buy gum and magazines and Coca Cola because they are right next to the register. I want to ask the cashier to double bag it, because we are taking the subway. I want to go home and put on music and old clothing and realize we forgot primer. I want the other person to be ok with just painting anyway. I want to cover all the furniture and then offer to fry up some eggs. I want there to be beer in the fridge for when we are halfway through. I want the painting to commence in a passionate, memorable stoke that we photograph. A splash of bright marigold on a industrial white wall. I want the painting to be done in stages, as we quietly sing along to songs. I want to make love on the floor when it strikes us. I want to nap while the paint dries, and wake up just in time to see the other person moving the furniture back. I want to offer to help and have them say, ‘I’ve got it.’ I want to brag about it to friends ‘this weekend, we painted a wall!’. I want to paint a room with someone else.”
Brittawnee looked at me plainly. She understood.
“Yeah,” She said, “Sometimes I feel that way too. But then I think … what if we don’t agree on the color?”
She giggled loudly. Brittawnee has the loudest giggle. The best part is almost anything could set her off. I envy this about her.
I was being honest in my desire though. My need for this one experience. To share something. To be at that place again. I no longer knew what it was like to function as a coupled organism, and I was wondering if I was starting to get weird.
Read the rest here.
Good writers always seem to comprehend the concept of "honesty" better than everyone else.
“So paint your room!”
“No,” I said, “I want to paint a room with someone else. I want to wake up early and get coffee and take the subway to Home Depot. I want to have already pre-planned our color scheme so we know to look for cool or warm shades. I want to argue over paint swatches, laugh at the mustard yellows and pale pinks that remind us of our childhood bedrooms. I want to annoy the other person by asking strangers for advice. I want to settle on a marigold or maybe some kind of bright green teal. I want to look the list we wrote together so we remember to get big rollers, little brushes, the tray you slosh the paint around in, tarps, and duct tape, and that gummy painters tape. I want the other person to suggest we get aprons that we can use for our next project. I want to kiss them when they say that. I want to buy gum and magazines and Coca Cola because they are right next to the register. I want to ask the cashier to double bag it, because we are taking the subway. I want to go home and put on music and old clothing and realize we forgot primer. I want the other person to be ok with just painting anyway. I want to cover all the furniture and then offer to fry up some eggs. I want there to be beer in the fridge for when we are halfway through. I want the painting to commence in a passionate, memorable stoke that we photograph. A splash of bright marigold on a industrial white wall. I want the painting to be done in stages, as we quietly sing along to songs. I want to make love on the floor when it strikes us. I want to nap while the paint dries, and wake up just in time to see the other person moving the furniture back. I want to offer to help and have them say, ‘I’ve got it.’ I want to brag about it to friends ‘this weekend, we painted a wall!’. I want to paint a room with someone else.”
Brittawnee looked at me plainly. She understood.
“Yeah,” She said, “Sometimes I feel that way too. But then I think … what if we don’t agree on the color?”
She giggled loudly. Brittawnee has the loudest giggle. The best part is almost anything could set her off. I envy this about her.
I was being honest in my desire though. My need for this one experience. To share something. To be at that place again. I no longer knew what it was like to function as a coupled organism, and I was wondering if I was starting to get weird.
Read the rest here.
Good writers always seem to comprehend the concept of "honesty" better than everyone else.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Monday, July 6, 2009
I should probably quit whining.
"As I get older, I find that I believe with all my heart in the comic approach to life. I mean, we’re all sitting in this room very seriously, we all selected clothes, but in X number of years, we will all definitely be rotting in the ground. Which is kind of hilarious when you think about it. Or at least humbling. The pretense, all the elaborate stuff we go through to bolster our egos, and the truth is that nothing — none of this – will last. That’s very funny. When you hear anybody in any context talking, including me right now, and think he’s just a corpse in progress, it’s kind of hilarious. The other side of it is that it argues strongly for kindness and compassion."
— George Saunders
— George Saunders
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Pathetic but predictable.
"The worker who sleeps with BlackBerry within touching distance, the girl sitting alone in the cafe but texting furiously while waiting for a friend, the woman on the bus on her mobile telling a friend that the test was negative for chlamydia, the solo traveller who Skypes home most nights from the hostel in Borneo, and the TV personality who tells you via Twitter that right now he is running a bath.
These are all symptoms of the death of our ability to be alone…
We are not just relinquishing our alone time, but we are gleefully sacrificing it, and doing so for multiple data streams, and even so our employer can contact us around the clock. Is the 11pm call from the boss better than nothing, silence, being disconnected - and perhaps missing out?"
-The Sydney Morning Herald, July 4
A little too penetrating considering my current situation. Less than 24 hours have passed since I've been without my beloved Blackberry.
Sadly, my life has come to a screeching halt. My thumbs are basically useless without the full qwerty keyboard of my Blackberry Curve.
I'm pretty peeved at how incapcitated and disconnected I actually feel (and I'm fully aware of how annoying this all sounds) but I suppose this feeling is the immediate consequence of having been spoiled by Blackberry-brand instant gratification for so long and knowing so many people with unlimited texting plans. (And on a more serious note, what if I end up in a dangerous situation before I get a replacement?)
Oh Blackberry, I'll never drop you again! Just come back soon and promise never to leave my side.
These are all symptoms of the death of our ability to be alone…
We are not just relinquishing our alone time, but we are gleefully sacrificing it, and doing so for multiple data streams, and even so our employer can contact us around the clock. Is the 11pm call from the boss better than nothing, silence, being disconnected - and perhaps missing out?"
-The Sydney Morning Herald, July 4
A little too penetrating considering my current situation. Less than 24 hours have passed since I've been without my beloved Blackberry.
Sadly, my life has come to a screeching halt. My thumbs are basically useless without the full qwerty keyboard of my Blackberry Curve.
I'm pretty peeved at how incapcitated and disconnected I actually feel (and I'm fully aware of how annoying this all sounds) but I suppose this feeling is the immediate consequence of having been spoiled by Blackberry-brand instant gratification for so long and knowing so many people with unlimited texting plans. (And on a more serious note, what if I end up in a dangerous situation before I get a replacement?)
Oh Blackberry, I'll never drop you again! Just come back soon and promise never to leave my side.
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