voltaire would kick my shins
Dear friends, I am quite convinced that I will become the greatest chronicler of our time. I tell myself this every morning when I wake up, every evening when I go to bed, every afternoon when I am playing bubbleshooter and thinking about how I ought to writing.
But sometimes I say, Self, there is a flaw in the plan.
Every great writer had feelings about things around them. Vague, but true. Like Dickens was pissed about poverty and class division, and Voltaire was pissed about silly people. I think. But what am I pissed about? Nothing concerns me. The Iraq War? Well, it's far...and I usually forget it's there at all, to be honest. Rising gas prices? I don't drive. And it had to happen sooner or later, I suppose. The election? Whatever.
I think maybe I haven't gotten the feel of the era down quite yet, if I am to be the mirror that future generations will see it through. I like other eras very much. I have read them well. They have come over for tea and we have chatted happily about the house, the kids, the stocks.
Then I think, Self, maybe that Big Crazy Idea of Our Time just hasn't happened yet. You think Dickens was born at the same time as the Industrial Revolution? You think silly people just popped out the moment Voltaire picked up a pen? Just wait, I say, just wait.
Though with the way things are going, it really seems like the future--the Big Crazy Idea--of our time is no future, Literally. This energy crisis...just seems like it will explode very suddenly in everyone's faces. Sure, other eras had their issues, but not on such a global scale. What's a little World War compared with everyone's faces melting off? I think I will end up writing about the Beginning of the End. Wouldn't it be funny to have been born at the death of universe?
Anyway, it's been a very bizarre and pointless week. This has had awful consequences concerning my bubbleshooter game.
But sometimes I say, Self, there is a flaw in the plan.
Every great writer had feelings about things around them. Vague, but true. Like Dickens was pissed about poverty and class division, and Voltaire was pissed about silly people. I think. But what am I pissed about? Nothing concerns me. The Iraq War? Well, it's far...and I usually forget it's there at all, to be honest. Rising gas prices? I don't drive. And it had to happen sooner or later, I suppose. The election? Whatever.
I think maybe I haven't gotten the feel of the era down quite yet, if I am to be the mirror that future generations will see it through. I like other eras very much. I have read them well. They have come over for tea and we have chatted happily about the house, the kids, the stocks.
Then I think, Self, maybe that Big Crazy Idea of Our Time just hasn't happened yet. You think Dickens was born at the same time as the Industrial Revolution? You think silly people just popped out the moment Voltaire picked up a pen? Just wait, I say, just wait.
Though with the way things are going, it really seems like the future--the Big Crazy Idea--of our time is no future, Literally. This energy crisis...just seems like it will explode very suddenly in everyone's faces. Sure, other eras had their issues, but not on such a global scale. What's a little World War compared with everyone's faces melting off? I think I will end up writing about the Beginning of the End. Wouldn't it be funny to have been born at the death of universe?
Anyway, it's been a very bizarre and pointless week. This has had awful consequences concerning my bubbleshooter game.