The ratings for last night’s Oscar telecast with Chris Rock as host hit an eight-year low.
Smart. The end.
As children, there was a time before any of us could read. This is a fact (no matter what Baby Einstein paid programming may insinuate), and therefore, most of our first interactions with books were from them being read to us. However, as we mature, this habit—no, art—is often ignored and undervalued. Once we learn to read for ourselves and eventually write our own words, we assume the time for reading aloud has passed. I think this does our own writing a great disservice, though.
After writing a story, authors will sometimes feel themselves invested in the writing in a way that becomes almost an unhealthy envelopment in the trenches of the words, so engrossed, that we forget how the rest of the world experiences these words. Attending a reading and performing a reading can enhance your own writing and make you aware of things you aren’t able to see…
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Pinpoint a moment in your past where you had to make a big decision. Write about that other alternate life that could have unfolded.
Source: The Road Less Traveled
You may feel alone. Your nature fails to compute with doctrine echoed by schools built by those impressed with their own farts. In a downpour where everyone else in comfortable under an umbrella. No store or peddler in sight you wonder how they all prepared so well as you drip skin juice on the blacktop. This is really just a fleeting mystery to me and unusual in its import. Ignore yourself.
I come to you from a Red Sky Society where foundation itself seems crippled by your nature. A red sky means violence. A red sky means that something is going to happen, whether you like it or not. For those who prefer the former, we welcome you to the Red Sky Society.
I don’t know why she won’t stop talking and let me write. Again I crush my will to remain engaged in vital things like breathing and smiling. On and on under the tendrils of a deepening red sky. On and on into a future that doesn’t matter.
I am sitting, crooked like I own the place, wanting to write to readers I haven’t met on a site I have barely just created in a tone I have yet to giveth birth tooth. I got a little jibberish with the “th” and for this I apologize. Hunger has a part in my decision to tap “tooth” where it did not belong. You will learn that my life is really just one big apology and for that I am sorry. I am also very sorry that I use commas so much. Would you mind if I just stopped doing so? I really don’t care very much how you choose to pause or inflect when you ding the ringer of your hear voice while tongue-reading my posts and extracting meaning. I mean, what it means is for you to discern. Discerning is a very private matter and I really do like where our relationship is going, so please don’t get mad at me so early in our Diophantine rendezvous. Perhaps my mind has once again done that thing with the litter lying around in the moment. The mind I speak of seems to enjoy becoming acquainted with said refuse. But as we all know, the greatest goodies come from the baddest of the yuck. We don’t look for heroes in the upper crust of the cake. If we do we find the usual copycats, posers and thieves. I am not one to be “chillin'” (as the white kids say these days. I’m Pantagonian so I can say that) with such non-iconoclasts. I like the riff and always find a home in the fatty part of the raff. But I digress. Quickly I wanted to tell you…
I feel like I am situated somewhere between the Tropic of Cancer, the Tropic of Capricorn, and The lower Hudson Valley. Thank you for joining me. Why are you reading this?