We are all rather blessed in our deprivations if we let ourselves be, I suppose…
The truth always lies between: neither party is ever right.
My ideal would be to manage to write in equal measure, and ideally with equal facility, “useful” things and “amusing” things. And possibly things that are useful and amusing at the same time.
In the wake of Knausgaard’s My Struggle, it would be easy to pull a Person of the Year and inaugurate “the self” as the exemplary character of contemporary narrative. But this maneuver would too readily stoke the rage that lies beneath the widespread claim that we are all narcissists now.
This room is like an oven tonight — or I would not be so generous in the matter of margins.
A: I will admit I had to be told don’t ever use torture— B: —Well, to torture in the cold light of day… A: —but I didn’t think it was offensive regardless. B: You didn’t think it was offensive? They have wives. … Continued
I’ll never be able to hold you again. So I fear. But I really don’t fear. It looks like snow. Nothing can surprise me.
With this spiritual nosegay I declare myself your happy and insouciant Kentucky friend, and nowonder Henry Miller says I look like an ex-con and like him and like Genet. Actually, though, it is only Picasso I look like which is deceptive: he got money.
Do you remember when we all we worried about was love?
Where in this frame is the duck? And it’s not for nothing: the insane onslaught of visual gags, puns, Alex Trebek-cameos and historical nonsenses really do render the video more effective.