I’m really tired of dealing with the folks at Homeland Security. I understand they have a job to do but there’s only so many times I can be asked to hand over $600 before I feel like pulling my teeth out. Next thing you know the Home Office will be asking me to cough up
Monthly Archives: July 2008
I’m reading William Hazlitt and enjoying it. I read most things twice these days. Once for style. Once for entertainment. I’m still on style. I’m not sure when I quit reading for the sake of a story; when I became more concerned with the way words were used and strung together. I’m thinking it was
Silas somethin-or-other was his name. But they called him Poor Boy. I forget why. Ever’body was poor back then so him not having no money wouldn’t been the reason. Anyway, they say it was Poor Boy what done it. That he just walked in one day and yoked her up side the head with his
I’ve been diagramming Shakespeare tonight. I called my seven year old niece for help but she was busy explaining the merits of water birthing to her mother who was busy explaining the demerits right back. I watched Kenneth Branagh’s Hamlet (1996) twice over the weekend. That’s eight hours. Give or take, but mostly give because
Last night we saw The Dark Knight. (No spoilers, BTW.) The first thing I noticed was Christian Bale’s mouth, and how well it suits a mask. After that, the only thing I noticed – was the other mouth and the way its owner used it to help create himself. The interrogation scene in particular…terrifically disturbing.
Edward Darling decided five years ago that he didn’t want to be anymore. Life was meaningless; God, a trick of the mind; and that soul he made such fuss about, nothing but empty space. And if it was all just empty space, which he now knew it was, and squashed up organs, which any doctor
“Whenever I’m asked why Southern writers particularly have a penchant for writing about freaks, I say it is because we are still able to recognize one. To be able to recognize a freak, you have to have some conception of the whole man, and in the South the general conception of man is still, in
“It is worth mentioning, for future reference, that the creative power which bubbles so pleasantly in beginning a new book quiets down after a time, and one goes on more steadily. Doubts creep in. Then one becomes resigned. Determination not to give in, and the sense of an impending shape keep one at it more
All I want to do is go to bed with a good book. Something light and fluffy that doesn’t make me think too hard or long to write in the margin. I also want to eat sushi. Or nothing at all. Because nothing at all is preferable to anything else I can think of. Except
I’ve been reading C.S. Lewis. He’s talking about words and how they lose their meaning and become of no use to anyone when they aren’t treated in the literal sense. Like ‘gentleman’. How it use to refer to a specific type of landed noble person. How someone then used it to refer to how that
“Substitute “damn” every time you’re inclined to write “very;” your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be.” ~Mark Twain
I’m compulsive. And I deeply think that it has to be something very neurotic. And I’m not joking. . . . I don’t have to do anything. Nothing. I can just sit around. But, suddenly it starts, you see. This terrible feeling that I am just wasting my life, I’m useless, I’m no good. Now,
