The problem, I have found, is that so many people will exclaim over the depth and sensitivity they see in a work I consider risible, which puts me in the position of either false agreement, or of telling them that I think their insight has the depth and resonance of monofilament.
There are some writers here on LiveJournal who rave about how their innovative and deep and (brilliant) views are just so out there they can never be popular, or sell in New York....but the samples they put up read to me like godawful tripe. Again, what can be said? I agree when I don't, or "This isn't published because it's even worse than X," (X being the tripe they despise).
So . . . . I just acknowledge that everyone's prism is shaped differently, that my valleys and soaring peaks are cumbled hillocks to someone else, and that their aurora borealis is my fake light show. But I don't feel that there is an implied lack of meaning to all this speculation...I just circle back round to Plato, and those shadowy flames on the cavern wall.
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There are some writers here on LiveJournal who rave about how their innovative and deep and (brilliant) views are just so out there they can never be popular, or sell in New York....but the samples they put up read to me like godawful tripe. Again, what can be said? I agree when I don't, or "This isn't published because it's even worse than X," (X being the tripe they despise).
So . . . . I just acknowledge that everyone's prism is shaped differently, that my valleys and soaring peaks are cumbled hillocks to someone else, and that their aurora borealis is my fake light show. But I don't feel that there is an implied lack of meaning to all this speculation...I just circle back round to Plato, and those shadowy flames on the cavern wall.
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