Monday, March 21, 2011

Three teaspoons of How.

From The Rules of Attraction by Bret Easton Ellis,

'What does this stuff remind you of?' I ask her, standing back. 'Degas? Seurat? Renoir?'
She looks at the canvas and says, 'Scooby Doo.'

From Man Alone With Himself by Friedrich Nietzsche,

The street of one's ancestors. It is reasonable to develop further the talent that one's father or grandfather worked hard at, and not switch to something entirely new; otherwise one is depriving himself of the chance to attain perfection in some one craft. Thus the saying: 'Which street should you take? - That of your ancestors.

From A Blue Hand by Deborah Baker,

For twenty years Ginsberg had relished the ritual of pens and paper, the relief that accompanied the emptying of his thoughts and the satisfaction of notebooks with filled pages. There were the small spiral bound pocket notebooks that he wrote in on subways and buses, and there were sturdy bedside notebooks for nighttime cris de coeur or an early morning dream. Returning to a notebook after a day's neglect. he would begin in the present and circle back, writing his thoughts and observations not as he had them, but as he recalled them. Periodically he cast back through the pages, prospecting for the glowing seam of a poem, like a miner long accustomed to working in the dark.

As the years had passed, the notebooks changed. More and more, Allen Ginsberg used them like a blank tape, inviting the world outside and inside his head to inscribe its noisy jive of unlikely juxtapositions. In India he had several notebooks going, and one, designed for schoolwork, now sat open on his lap, interleaved with unanswered letters. On its pages the tracks of his thinking crossed the borders of day and night, past and present, waking and dreaming, poetry and prose. The rhythm of the train itself was inscribed in his handwriting and jagged line breaks.

This is from books I read recently.

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