"We are slaves of fiction because we know it is the one thing capable of incinerating our tombstone."
© Negative by M. LeClerc, 2021. No rights under copyright reserved; thieving not encouraged, not prohibited.
W. Kandinsky: "There are no 'musts' in art." T.S. Eliot: "There is no freedom in art." Dostoievski character, after the ancient Middle East epigram: "Everything is permitted." (R-rated weblog. Since one has been advised there is no Literature anymore, or even literature, only writing, one proceeds on the premise that this weblog qualifies as not-meaningless, since it is, or appears to be, a form of "writing." Image: Banksy.)
"We are slaves of fiction because we know it is the one thing capable of incinerating our tombstone."
© Negative by M. LeClerc, 2021. No rights under copyright reserved; thieving not encouraged, not prohibited.
Patty Smith's The Warrior -- For "shootin' at the walls of heartache" one could substitute "kickin' down the walls of heartache."
Joni Mitchell's Big Yellow Taxi -- For "They paved paradise and put up a parkin' lot" one could substitute "They paved paradise and rolled out a parkin' lot" since though there certainly are multi-story parking lots, the average person's first thought on hearing the term "parking lot" is of a classic surface-level stretch of asphalt, to the construction of which the term "put up" does not apply, in one man's quiet opinion.
The Dan's Deacon Blues -- For "I cried when I wrote this song, / Sue me if I play too long," one could substitute "I cried when I wrote this song, / Sue me if I play it wrong" though it is of course the heighth of presumptuousness to suggest an alteration of a Dan lyric, Walter and Donald's tunes among the most magnificently written in rock history but I've been thinking and singing "play it wrong" for decades, thinking that was the way it was originally sung and recorded, hence this inexcusable note.
With respectful apologies to a stubborn and indispensable master:
None too savory; not required reading at this time.
The most pretentious hotdog ever put on a bun. A perfect example of how not to write a novel. Should have been awarded an Oscar Meyer Prize. But he was young and under the influence of an overwhelming non-straightforward maximum-complexity master, so he can be given a pass.