Tell me what books you read and i will tell you who you are…
What is the essence of the truly gifted writer?
This is actually a very personal question. Tell me what books you read and i can tell you who you are… We don’t need a bible anymore to tell us who we are and how to behave – take one look in anyones bookshelf and that’s it… a compleat personality unfolds within seconds. When i enter a home and only find sports magazines, i know that it he’s performance in bed that’s going to keep me up, and not his mind-blowing theories on Lacan or Foucault.
Defining the gifted writer is as personal and intimate as telling your doctor something is itching in a very wrong place. You will be judge no matter what you say. It is always a bit uncomfortable because no one in the entire world reads the same books and loves all the same gifted writers. It is very lonely loving books and authors. But it is a happy and secure loneliness.
Sooo … what is the essence of the gifted writer?
To me… because that is the only thing that matters in literature – the self, the subject, the individual, the essence of me reflected through the words of a gifted writer… To me the words of a writer is … everything when served in a certain way. One writer makes you smile, another cry. I need and crave a simple sentence. To many adjectives and im bored. Anyone can porn up the language. But only a few can create radiant fireworks, orgasms and even stay to cuddle afterwards… in one sentence. “To Kill a mockingbird” is such a book, the language so slow and lazy, so hot and simple… no lies, no illusions, no need for unnecessary glamour and bling; “Atticus told me to delete the adjectives and I’d have the facts“. ~Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird.
All the facts that i collect and exhibit in my small home library is who i am and you can not judge me by one book alone – you have to take it all in – all at once. Three seconds is all you get.
The Brunette: “I will not ever F****** use an anagram!”
The Blonde: “but… but… but… my name also spells out *camel nerd have a hotline*. How is that not awesome?!”
The Brunette; “it’s stupid… and you didn’t even come up with it yourself… you just googled something weird!… possibly at three o’clock in the morning! After drinking two gallons of coffee.”
The Blonde: “…That’s just vile and evil speculations. And you can’t prove a thing! Besides, what about *henchman ate ideal lover*? Sweet, right? or:
evil heel dance marathon
chained male hole tavern
ill omen headache tavern
Maniac Veteran Held Hole
a devil clean the menorah
henchman loved eel tiara
a henchman violate elder
and ever the melancholia
The Brunette:” …..?!…..”
*taking a deep breath*
The Brunette:” Well! IF I must explain this to you…. you see – anagrams sucks because there is always some idiot savant 7year old kid who will figure it out, or some crazed old dude with a conspiracy complex… nooooo…. they do not work. It’s not even a good illusion – just a mind trick for the really, really….. really bored….”
The Blonde: *puts fingers in ears and starts humming very loudly* “what? I can’t hear you?! Very…! Windy…! Over…! Here…!!!”
One of the girls says:” Ugh… best birthday present EVER!… i looooove you”
“and I did the first one ever for you … a tiny Cthulu”
Other girl: “a very much not at all self serving gift. Nothing at all to do with
manipulating inspiring you to build me an army of crochet ctulhus. At all. *coff*. Glad you like it?
First girl:” I dont care… am working on the army… want to do one in rainbow colors… very Cthulu-like… dont you think? *sniggers*”
The Brunette:” nooo… the really smart thing to do would be to name oneself after a favorite book or movie character… I am without a doubt; Rob Anybody!”
The Blonde: “Yeah! Or, wait… Nah. You’re Rosie Palm. Denfinitely. Oh! Can I be Maladict? Besides, dontcha think that all those conspiracy nuts and savants who could theoretically figure out my name from a random collection of letters, could figure out a lot more about you from knowing which literary characters you identify with?”
The Brunette:“Nope… they are way to busy not bathing, reading the papers and being over-all paranoid to ever open a fictional book that does not include words like Big Brother, free masons, Murdoch, Rothchild or Illuminati”
The Brunette: “Maladict… of course… that’s why you came back from you survival trip three days early? Ran out of coffee?… I’m no Rosie Palm”
*trying to sneak into the bedroom to look up the book because she can’t remember who Rosie Palm is*
The Blonde: “…she’s the shrewd businesswoman who lives with her many *ahem* daughters? Who all gets an awful lot of visits from gentlemen callers? Oh, never mind. And coffee is an important staple in any diet! With enough coffee, I could take over the world!!! …and waitaminnit… I know those organisations! I always thought they were somehow vaguely connected to Elvis. Or martians. Possibly both? *trying to remember* yeah, definitely the martians. Who built the pyramids, for the Rothchilds? Who kidnapped Elvis, to go live in Atlantis, in a palace (wearing a scuba diving outfit, presumably), with Princess Diana, Jimmy Hoffa, and some dude who ran the Illuminati via communication channels built into the ley lines? By the masons? Is that where they fit into this, and then why did they do it for free, if the martians got paid?” *confused*
The Brunette:”So – no anagrams?… you woldemort wanna-be”
*remembers Rosie Palm and smiles in a nasty way*
The Brunette:”Do i really need to hint you with a giant metal thingy?!…. road-trip… it was wet… your feet sprouted mushrooms?”
The Blonde: “…mumblemumble… and they so didn’t sprout mushrooms. I took a sodium benzoate foot bath before they had a chance to gain a foothold. *giggle* get it? Foot hold? But yeah. Four days of utter hell on earth. The sky fell, the nature trails were flooded, my feet were so wet I had to stop every hour to check they hadn’t completely dissolved, I got a weird, blue lump on top of one foot after slipping on some scree, and I’m NEVER eating gorp again. Ever. On the good side, the zombies didn’t get me, I proved that bivy sacks are the epitome of awesomeness, and I’m fairly certain I gained a ranger level out of sheer bloodymindedness. Did you enjoy your weekend of sitting at home watching tv and doing the laundry?”
The brunette:” I had a perfect weekend. Thank you very much. I dont really like you right now … but I will still go to the kitchen and make you a fresh and amazing tomato-pumking soup with baguettes and no mushrooms – because I’m that kind of person. Serve you coffee. Put on this awesome TV-series you gotta watch (Carnivale) and not resent you at all…”
The brunette:” So … NO anagram?… and stop watching that emotional reality-porn on tv… Go catch some zombies!” *grumbles*
The Blonde: “but the magic box is talking to me! It’d be rude to ignore it! Hey – where are you going…?”
(The Brunette has left the room. End of story.)
So… what do you think? Anagram or no anagram?
(The Blonde: “repeat after me: anagrammes are awesome! Go Voldemort! Whooo!”)
Uninspired, unable to write …
This was no good!
This left us in a fright
Sooo we went pubbing…
We do not ever go clubbing…
We took pictures… we felt cool
Others looked at us as if we were tool(s)…
HA – we dont give a F***