It's not really a vacation if you're working, but it has to function as both for two reasons: First you need to be able to sound as if you're not completely destitute to the people you interact with back at home. People who are not destitute take vacations. Second, if you want to keep writing, you have to make money somehow.
That's where I am folks: on "vacation" in my hometown of Palm Springs, California. I did go to Disneyland with The Boy. I guess it was a vacation that day.
I will be back soon to do more podcast episodes. In the next couple days I will post a weird little around-town diary I recorded as I drove around my home town. The audio is bad and I come of like a jerk at times, but I thought there were some relevant thoughts on writing.
Be back soon. Read More
Writers and food have a special relationship. While most people think of food as either sustenance or a source of occasional pleasure, artists either see it as poison or use it as some sort of sick anti-muse that inspires you to weep at your misfortune as you measure the width of newly-formed stretch marks.
Today I saw a bunny fend off a snake. It’s an old video you can dig up on Youtube. I had always heard that bunnies can be ferocious, which I for obvious reason disbelieved for a long time until one Spring Day in Iowa. My four year-old son was chasing rabbits around the field near a playground. Some other children were doing the same, but the older kids were content to watch the younger ones. By older I mean five and six years-old, not teenagers. These were kids who should have seen fit to find a rabbit of their own to chase if only to show the smaller ones how it’s done.
I’m from California. Many of the idiots down there are up in arms about the lack of water, which stems from a certain type of educated ignorance. Southern California, nearly all of it, is a desert. Has been for hundreds of thousands of years. Southern Californians are not in a drought, they are in a desert. The drought is implied.
Stick with me here.
We have bunnies in California. Actually most are hares. They are monstrous at times. I’ve been on the golf course and mistaken one for a baby coyote when I went to retrieve my ball from a bush. No one thinks of chasing a hare around a field. That, though is a result of the hare’s appearance and demeanor. Hares are skittish, but they never look adorably terrified like a Midwestern bunny wunny rabbit.
The bunny I saw on the video dodged the snapping jaws of the snake several times before it figured out the best way to win was to nip at its tail, which it did until the snake decided he better slither away from the maniacal, leporidine demon. The poor serpent was forced into the low hanging branches of a tree where he would spend the next three days developing PTSD and thinking of what he would say to his friends when word got around that a bunny rabbit had frightened a few spines of his hemipenis. Read More
I think i have this grandiose vision of the literary world as it used to be.
It could be that I’m so far removed from the modern version, that I can’t see how similar it really is. I fantasize about the way writers and artists used to get together and fight and hang out and discuss their masterpieces in confidence knowing the others in the group were just as insecure and mentally unstable.
Does that exist anymore? Does being an artists boil down to nothing more than one’s activity on twittershits and fac(ebook)? Does anybody care about writing or introspection or literary aesthetics anymore? Are we so afraid of getting a peek at our real selves through art that we skirt it by degrading it with subtle epithets? Books for snobs are called “literature”, everyone else reads "fiction".
Music has its snob-class too called “classical”, a genre its thrown into regardless of the composition date. Modern culture is now looking down on things we once elevated as the highest human acheivements. All because we’d prefer books as entertainment, our music as “something to dance to”; even if you don’t dance.
Maybe the life of the artist is around here somewhere, but I can’t break into to it. Maybe I can’t break into it precisely because Im’ trying to break into it.
Or maybe it never existed.
And what do I think of when talking about that former literary world? Read More