Andre Dubus III made the case against outlining. In his warning against intellectualizing one’s work—“Do not think, dream”—he insisted that fiction comes to life when you stop trying to control it by working towards an ending planned out in advance.
We’re all born with an imagination. Everybody gets one. And I really believe—this is just from years of daily writing—that good fiction comes from the same place as our dreams. I think the desire to step into someone else’s dream world, is a universal impulse that’s shared by us all. That’s what fiction is. As a writing teacher, if I say nothing else to my students, it’s this.
I began to learn characters will come alive if you back the fuck off.
Here’s the distinction. There’s a profound difference between making something up and imagining it. You’re making something up when you think out a scene, when you’re being logical about it. You think, “I need this to happen so some other thing can happen.” There’s an aspect of controlling the material that I don’t think is artful. I think it leads to contrived work, frankly, no matter how beautifully written it might be. You can hear the false note in this kind of writing.
This was my main problem when I was just starting out: I was trying to say something. When I began to write, I was deeply self-conscious. I was writing stories hoping they would say something thematic, or address something that I was wrestling with philosophically. I’ve learned, for me at least, it’s a dead road. It’s writing from the outside in instead of the inside out.
But during my very early writing, certainly before I’d published, I began to learn characters will come alive if you back the fuck off. It was exciting, and even a little terrifying. If you allow them to do what they’re going to do, think and feel what they’re going to think and feel, things start to happen on their own. It’s a beautiful and exciting alchemy. And all these years later, that’s the thrill I write to get: to feel things start to happen on their own.
So I’ve learned over the years to free-fall into what’s happening. What happens then is, you start writing something you don’t even really want to write about. Things start to happen under your pencil that you don’t want to happen, or don’t understand. But that’s when the work starts to have a beating heart.
ζKeres Deaths Carousel
Swings and woundabouts hearts slave to life
Death cruel saviour drips venom filled tears with
lying in wait, knocking blindly at the armature
wire, filled with turgid fillers, stuffed to the gills
where no one can investigate
congealed encased opiates of pain, a
sloe burning on the branch when moros came and
Nature only has to sit back and wait.
We don’t need much help with our incestuous hate
Contrary to the adage ‘knowledge economy’ we become distant. Incongruent. Uncalibrated. Disjointed. Destroyed.
The complexity of the want and Fuck u mind is the only economy birthed from this new notion of knowledge acquisition= economy
Save the world they are killing it.
Nature watches the self cannibalisation
Disequilibrium based on disconnection from self
Alienation employs what it knows best: terror, we rust inside
kill yourselves oh how sad,schadenfreude
misericordia, misericordia, misericordia
mercy,mercy,mercy, fallacious fellatio, on your knee’s to thee highest in heaven
the thunder of the thrush hidden in the scrub
hold on wait ,hear me
child, tender child
little tweet, honest on the snow
golden strands vomit, gurgle
The sounding and seeing entityWhere the under is over and the on is off Close your mind down hear the stringless guitar playing man having pissed in his coke bottle now HANGS silently How can a belly so full of worldly angst take the silent tune and hear the unheard of. How did others implant this ennui onto one who can’t spit it out into their faces? INTO their empty, so called educated, fatuous and self-serving faces But turns it inwards and onto nature EXECUTED they weep empty tears
8Rocheerosion is slow like a pip wiped out on a briar
the deviant eats and gnaws away castigating the hairs
breadth of the day, the Roche subtle covered holding
flayed the sun rests on the broom here
come here feel your breast little one the thicket is
dark the gossamer swaddles venial lips purging free form
laid down breathless no one saw it come
How full can you be? how riddled to thinness can there be gluttonyGluttoned with concretisation desecration fake creation Fattened calves patented and extended homogenised By the hyperbole of marke-tears. Held together by invisible chains too tired to care and protest watch the child Cry cry humpty dumpty broken
While you can create sophisticated banners and other complex animations using Alchemy Mindworks’ Animation Workshop – and nothing else – adding animated objects to Animation Workshop will unquestionably drop it into hyperspace. Alchemy Mindworks offers a suite of inexpensive, easy-to-master tools to build animations.
Animation Workshop will import animations from a number of popular formats. The two you’re most likely to get involved with are GIF and MNG. While conceptually similar, it’s important to understand the distinction between them.
Yes we have the superiority complex, the mother complex, the inferiority complex and we have Jung and Freud to thank for these unholy complexes.
Now the Delusion Complex comes from an area known a solipsism. This is a philosophic term. It’s mine and it will be shaped according to me.
Others have to try and fit, but what if you don’t fit or don’t want to fit.
Then delusion complex can take you into a violent and vicious world. Their anger is silent and cunning with manipulation at its core.
It is never called to action until someone disagrees with it. They are charisma itself. Sweet as pie with a large dose of arsenic.
Late august, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer’s blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
We trekked and picked until the cans were full
Until the tinkling bottom had been covered
With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard’s.
We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre. Continue reading SeamusHeaneyOFFtoNewFrontiers
How did he do it? He tried before! Backed out that time caught in the liminal what if? This time he probably put it around his neck and tried out the feeling, the sensation at least a week in advance.
He decided, and that was that, threw it over the beam didn’t let it dangle just did it. With a sacrificial tear in his eye he kicked the chair. The mind is blank, no thought, the hands and arms just have a purpose. There was no thinking or ambivalence. Of course if an emergency had awakened the mind in him, fire, fire, help me, we need you, the child is drowning! Someone help me please! Jesus help me the fire is burning my body.
The noose would have been loosened dropping down kicking the chair he’d have ran, he’d have called, he’d have screamed come on everybody help them .
If someone broke into his house and threatened to kill him what then? Then he would have fought, then he would have attacked to save his self, then he would have screamed and shouted ‘don’t touch me, don’t even try it I have a gun upstairs, his life is his to preserve. It is precious.
When it is his self the only entity, the only life in the soul that needs help, the back turns and leaves it to its own devices.
The energy is obsolete breathing out with hatred, fire in the belly mellows in abeyance. Who can you call? I want to kill myself. I can’t see a reason to live! These thoughts are making it seem that this decision is the right one. What is there to live for what would they think? Cry baby.
A grown man like me. I want to end it all. If you call for help it doesn’t leave a lesion, have the same emphasis as actually being found hanging. Then they know I meant it. It is crying like a baby, looking for attention, I want to commit suicide, I feel like it. How do you say it? It is complex, profound, exciting and all knowing if you ask for help you can’t mean it! What would you know?
‘nothing like the real thing’ then they know he’s tasted purity.
Life should be open for discussion not destruction!
Scum does not understand the nature of thinking of the whole only the i. Their world becomes removed from others. Scum rises. And as it does it clings to the controlling centre of the system. You see scum is Continue reading Scum Drumm Rises
Page n Brin n Jobs n Sin
Power at first is rarely the goal. It is the assault of ideas that drags you along. The drowning in imaginings. How did that happen? Try it that way! What’s the worst that can happen if? Power is the murderer.Like all assaults it is unexpected, unless of course you go out looking for a fight. Generally assaults on the system are not systemic. They are gradual and exciting like foreplay. At first you feel the tingle then the tension, a twist and turn away from, a denial that you’re enjoying it. Holding back from the sensation delaying the relief makes it feel more explosive and expansive. Power does this to you. At the point of submerge power takes the reins and it is all rollercoaster from there on in. The breath is taken from you. Slowly someone usually a clever accountant steps in and gives you an oxygen tank. The orgasmic state has little in comparison to power. Wild and liberating it keeps you floating on air. Power not being the end in itself takes a sycophant by surprise. The experiment becomes the control. Control sharpens the edge of the periphery, it feels good suddenly you senses are crying out for more. Vibrations are constant. What next? This game has now become bigger than the rules. The rules change. More and more the cry is loud oh God more sustaining this constancy blinds power.
Google are the masters and of course any large corporation. Sunday roast anyone?