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| SeymourNo, not Seymour as in "Suddenly Seymour is standing beside you", but Seymour as in the poet-brother of the Salinger who has found a happy home in so may of our hearts. After reading Raise High the Roofbeam, Carpenters and most of Seymour: an introduction (which were penned at different times, hence their separation here), I can't help but feeling like all of this time my long lost writing mentor has been no other but the latter-mentioned Salinger. His longwinded, witty sentences with so many parenthetical asides as to drive one to distraction (and self-pleasing humor that he both mocks and revels in) give me more comfort in both my writing style (and my personal state of being) than any book I've read. Granted, Nabokov works great wonders of the like I could only hope to poorly imitate, and Pierce (yes, I'm discussing my favorite fairy stories in the same sentence as arguably two of the best literary geniuses of all times) weaves tales so delightfully defiant of reality that they've become a part of mine, but J.D. Salinger hits the nail on the head with his admittedly pseudo-rambling style. I've always enjoyed his narrative, especially in the bananafish story and in that one that every one has read with some grain in its title. I feel a connection to his brother as he describes him. I might be his brother, except I feel I am not as intelligent as that young man. I wish I could have met him. I feel that the younger Salinger discussed in this paragraph is more of his brother than he lets on, and would love to be one of those in the number of the three groups that appear at his house. I feel innately connected to him like his commanding officer no doubt did when they found they had the same favorite author or I did when Marci told me on the facebook before we knew each other that she loved Pierce. Perhaps my love of theatre is what attracts me to him, but even if that is the case it only furthers my argument (which I have yet to hint at). Read as much Salinger as you can. There is more truth in what I've read today than in all of the truth surrounding me. Truth, what is truth? Well, Pilot, I only know it when I see it. I cannot define truth anymore than you can truly absolve yourself in the eyes of history. | | |
| I hope you're happy now...Can you be annoyed, confused, insulted and complimented all in the same instant? Have you ever been asked to explain what part of speech 'goodly' is? Can we talk about the word goodly for a minute? Good. Let's talk goodly about goodly. (Not that goodly was an incorrect usage of the word goodly but since most people who know me know I use good-ly as an explanation for the word well, I figure, well why not? They'll probably think I meant good-ly any way.) A goodly, well-meaning friend asked me to explain goodly in relation to its use in a sentence. Well how do you begin an explanation of goodly (not as in well, which would be good-ly, but as in substancial or pleasing to the eye) in a sentence when adjectives and adverbs are so often confused (as typically illustrated by me with the now-famous good-ly example)? I guess I don't feel like goodly talking about goodly after all. Well, goodly isn't a goodly subject for discussion on all accounts except that of my goodly, well-meaning friend, who would do well to find more goodly conversation topics. | | |
| Gasp! I'm posting!
Holy quadraped of the bovine variety! What is the occasion?
I just wanted to tell you guys about how much fun I've been having.
First of all, you should know that I've decided to start doing my homework, which is why some of you have seen less of me. While the result is regretable I cannot help but think I've made the right choice here.
Secondly, last night I went to Easton on a whim with Marci. It was exactly what I needed. New shoes, good food, fun movie, interesting backroads and long conversations.
Thirdly, I've donated plasma, gone tanning and driven home recently. Woot.
I got Julian Velard CDs today!
I enjoy caffeine!
And there you have it: fun.
Fun translation:
Escritóstá in my soul your gesture and as much as writing I you from demands to: Their alone escribistes; I read it only that still before their I guard into this. In this are I and always placed that, although into me everything does not go in, which in their I see so much well, what I do not understand that I believe, by already taking the faith by budget. I became born only for quereros; my soul cut you at their measure; by habit of the soul I want you; just as I have, takes on deberos; by their I became born, their have I the life, of their must I die and by their I meurs.
After you die...
Heaven
After death, you will exist in heaven. Everything and everyone you love will constantly surround you for all of eternity. You lucky scoundrel.
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| Oh Mike... the picture is for you. | | |
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