literacy...i'm a fan
there is little that's more satisfying than being so utterly spellbound by a novel that you read it cover to cover in one sitting.
well, okay, so there are plenty of things more satisfying. but not to me. at least not tonight. not now. only when your own life is so fucked with confusion, so empty behind the chaos, so void of sleep and stability does clarity come in the form of being alone, even in the mist of your own loneliness.
that being said, everyone should read the body artist by don delillo. this man makes me want to never write another word. throw away any works in progress, delete microsoft word, break any writing utensils within reach. and for that, i thank him.
i may never achieve the level of prose that can make a person chain-smoke for hours, determined not to stop until they reach the back cover, but it's something to strive for. so for now i'll settle for being the chain-smoker, living in that daze between night and morning, happy to exist in someone's world that isn't my own.
and i'll continue to write, not because i'm convinced that i can, but more because i've come to find that i have to. it's kind of like breathing, my life just wouldn't be the same if i stopped.
...or maybe i'm just a dork and books make me happy
well, okay, so there are plenty of things more satisfying. but not to me. at least not tonight. not now. only when your own life is so fucked with confusion, so empty behind the chaos, so void of sleep and stability does clarity come in the form of being alone, even in the mist of your own loneliness.
that being said, everyone should read the body artist by don delillo. this man makes me want to never write another word. throw away any works in progress, delete microsoft word, break any writing utensils within reach. and for that, i thank him.
i may never achieve the level of prose that can make a person chain-smoke for hours, determined not to stop until they reach the back cover, but it's something to strive for. so for now i'll settle for being the chain-smoker, living in that daze between night and morning, happy to exist in someone's world that isn't my own.
and i'll continue to write, not because i'm convinced that i can, but more because i've come to find that i have to. it's kind of like breathing, my life just wouldn't be the same if i stopped.
...or maybe i'm just a dork and books make me happy