>Dear Canela,
>
>You wrote:
>
> >You kinda sound like school, and I'm trying to learn to talk out of
> >school.
>
>'kay. Fair enough. I'll break it down for you, then.
>
>There are two ways to survive the shitstorms of life: tell it straight, no
>bullshit, right to the point, an' no fuckin' around with word games,
>made-up shit that didn't actually happen, and trippin' about exactly what
>word to use for somethin'. And then there's bein' free in your own mind
>to take the shit that you been dealt, and flip it the fuck over so that it
>looks different, but tells the same story. 'Cause the story is the thing:
>and didn't nobody have to _do_ all the shit you tell, if they _coulda_ did
>it. If it sounds right, like they _coulda_ did it that way, under the
>circumstances . . . then it's right for the story. And ain't nobody can
>tell you what stories you can damn well tell. So then the shit that
>started out near to stranglin' you ends up makin' you _think_. And the
>shit that happened is still fucked up, but it's got its damn hands off of
>your throat, and you can breathe a little. But both styles is cool: it's
>just different strokes is all.
actually, i think i shall disagree with both of you... because i
really think that there is no way one can escape fiction. as soon as
you agonize about what word to use for that there "somethin'" you are
redefining the experience. the truth, the straight-no-bullshit, only
exists at the moment of experience, existence if you will. putting it
into words, even thinking about it, redefines it into... fiction.
so you see... existing as we do in this most fictional of
environments... the perfect choice for self-reflexives... as are all
writers... we are but vampires of our own blood. tasty, ain't it.
-e
This archive was generated by hypermail 2.1.2 : Sun Nov 18 2001 - 12:13:00 PST