turn the page
Or clean the slate, or shake the fucking Etch A Sketch...
I go to sign the bankruptcy papers this afternoon. I don't think it will help much.
Supposed to hang out with WB and his friends, which makes me nervous, as always, but I may bail depending on how I feel. le sigh. le New Me. Doesn't feel all that different.
Reading Parachutes and Kisses, Erica Jong's second sequel to Fear of Flying. I get frustrated with Jong, because she writes joyfully and gloriously about sex, and about these brainy, gorgeous women with sex appeal falling out their ears and every other orifice, both in the main character's opinion and in the writer's. But they frustrate me because, first, who are these people? And second...where does there exist a space for a person who doesn't like sex? Who doesn't see it as salvation, or breaking through, or anything much more than an annoyance, like the need to go to the bathroom when I'm trying to watch a movie?
There's supposed to be an art to writing erotica, I won't contest that, but I go to GenX, I read a lot of books, and all the stories seem to be about sex and violence. Are human beings so endlessly fascinated with two topics that they can't write about something else? I want to be the writer who does, but what if it's no good? I'll be Camus' suicide subject, who kills himself to bring attention to his art, who's then forgotten because it's judged to be no good.
I go to sign the bankruptcy papers this afternoon. I don't think it will help much.
Supposed to hang out with WB and his friends, which makes me nervous, as always, but I may bail depending on how I feel. le sigh. le New Me. Doesn't feel all that different.
Reading Parachutes and Kisses, Erica Jong's second sequel to Fear of Flying. I get frustrated with Jong, because she writes joyfully and gloriously about sex, and about these brainy, gorgeous women with sex appeal falling out their ears and every other orifice, both in the main character's opinion and in the writer's. But they frustrate me because, first, who are these people? And second...where does there exist a space for a person who doesn't like sex? Who doesn't see it as salvation, or breaking through, or anything much more than an annoyance, like the need to go to the bathroom when I'm trying to watch a movie?
There's supposed to be an art to writing erotica, I won't contest that, but I go to GenX, I read a lot of books, and all the stories seem to be about sex and violence. Are human beings so endlessly fascinated with two topics that they can't write about something else? I want to be the writer who does, but what if it's no good? I'll be Camus' suicide subject, who kills himself to bring attention to his art, who's then forgotten because it's judged to be no good.