The Essay: 183 Pages of a Tortuous Death
Never have I read more pointless information--not even the random pointless facts they have posted on the internet--and never have I been required to write such a pointless critique.
Why is the origin of the essay such a huge debate?
These people--these anti-establishment whores--advocate an essay that makes no sense in organization unless scructinized on a level requiring an electron microscope and a lot of time. Why am I reading this?
. . . .
My apologies to Yida for being such an asshole the other day.
. . . .
This lousy book has made me want to write--it's a necessity I can't avoid now; but I fear something irrevocably innate and worthless will wrench the bolts from my brain and let it all flow until I no longer have any wave activity.
So maybe I'll start with a pre-existing story and work my way from there--
I haven't visited Jane in a while anyway.
"How many times have I stared into this glass?"
Gumballs, gumballs of all the traditional flavors. It was blue that everyone wanted. Why blue? Jane never much cared for it. She had concluded long ago that the gumball merchants surveyed their consumers and found out about this trend. Later, she found that they concocted a method to make it look like a blue gumball was coming next. And after that, those gumball merchants figured out how to make the taste run out from the blue gumballs quickest. That's why she didn't like them. Blue wouldn't give enough for her quarter.
But these new machines-- When exactly had they been put together? Gumball merchants always trying to take away quarters. Always wanting more--trying to complete their sets. They needed every state in hundreds of sets. Jane was sure of this--sure of why the gumball merchants created these new machines with their gumball courses and cranes. The gumballs perform tricks for a quarter now, manuevering through a series of sequences like the traps that Tom used to set for Jerry.
So Jane stuck her quarter in and waited the prescribed ten seconds for her yellow gumball to finish its run.
Walking through the mall, Jane noticed now, more than ever the cliques of people schooling toward some destination where someone would invariably feel left out. Even in their closed in groups, people tried to be individuals. Nobody liked the same things, but no one ever stopped to question the disparity present in themself. No one cared. It was enough to be in a group. It was better not to think of the ways that you didn't fit in.
. . . .
I think that's it. I don't like the last two paragraphs or whatever you wish to call them--but I'm not going to bother going back and cleaning anything up yet.
Any thoughts on the matter, let me know.
Why is the origin of the essay such a huge debate?
These people--these anti-establishment whores--advocate an essay that makes no sense in organization unless scructinized on a level requiring an electron microscope and a lot of time. Why am I reading this?
. . . .
My apologies to Yida for being such an asshole the other day.
. . . .
This lousy book has made me want to write--it's a necessity I can't avoid now; but I fear something irrevocably innate and worthless will wrench the bolts from my brain and let it all flow until I no longer have any wave activity.
So maybe I'll start with a pre-existing story and work my way from there--
I haven't visited Jane in a while anyway.
"How many times have I stared into this glass?"
Gumballs, gumballs of all the traditional flavors. It was blue that everyone wanted. Why blue? Jane never much cared for it. She had concluded long ago that the gumball merchants surveyed their consumers and found out about this trend. Later, she found that they concocted a method to make it look like a blue gumball was coming next. And after that, those gumball merchants figured out how to make the taste run out from the blue gumballs quickest. That's why she didn't like them. Blue wouldn't give enough for her quarter.
But these new machines-- When exactly had they been put together? Gumball merchants always trying to take away quarters. Always wanting more--trying to complete their sets. They needed every state in hundreds of sets. Jane was sure of this--sure of why the gumball merchants created these new machines with their gumball courses and cranes. The gumballs perform tricks for a quarter now, manuevering through a series of sequences like the traps that Tom used to set for Jerry.
So Jane stuck her quarter in and waited the prescribed ten seconds for her yellow gumball to finish its run.
Walking through the mall, Jane noticed now, more than ever the cliques of people schooling toward some destination where someone would invariably feel left out. Even in their closed in groups, people tried to be individuals. Nobody liked the same things, but no one ever stopped to question the disparity present in themself. No one cared. It was enough to be in a group. It was better not to think of the ways that you didn't fit in.
. . . .
I think that's it. I don't like the last two paragraphs or whatever you wish to call them--but I'm not going to bother going back and cleaning anything up yet.
Any thoughts on the matter, let me know.