billy ocean's "suddenly", for, like, a fucking month at least -
Quit smoking. This is the third time that I have, and this time it has to stick. It's the people who quit and start and quit and start over and over who really get fucked up, because quitting is as stressful as smoking. If you smoke, you should just smoke, and accept that your life will be nasty, brutish and short. You might even be able to enjoy some of it.
When I see someone with a cig in hand who looks obviously unhealthy, beaten-down, completely suffering from the effects of smoking, I think: Well, we all choose our poison.
Teenagers look stupid smoking, because of all the practised affectation and the bad clothes. I understand why teenagers smoke. I just don't want to look at them doing it.
If you're a teenager, you probably look stupid doing pretty much anything except for delivering Meals on Wheels or playing chess. And even then the chance is you still look stupid. There's nothing you can do about it except dig it. Learn humility.
Adults also pretty much look stupid. The difference is we have learned humility because we've gone out there and made some failure. Humility is like a tat for your aura.
Weird. I read some Vonnegut, and next thing you know I'm writing in this bad Vonnegut rip-off tone with the same fake bohemian flourishes that stick to everything I do. I need to take a course. In how to write.
My girlfriend takes one. A few of them, actually. Last year she had what I saw at the time, and still do, as a breakthrough - instead of aping all these semi-famous (in a local kind of way) campus newspaper navel-chewers that pepper the arts weeklies of our city, she started writing seriously from herself. She found the glimmer of a voice. She got some depth.
Now she feels stuck, or so she explained to me this morning. She is having a crisis of confidence. Seems like a natural part of the cycle. Inconveniently timed, I suppose, but there never is a good time to stick your foot in shit.
I still think what she's writing is good. In her last couple of pieces, she's been trying to stretch, to write something more fanciful, not so much from her own experience, and from what I hear it hasn't really been flying in class. I jokingly suggested she write a short fiction with a main character with the same name as herself, a la Johnathan Safran Foer (What a name! Some random pounding of the keyboard), and go meta-. She informed me someone in the class has already done this. This makes me blanch in disgust.
Maybe taking a course in how to write would drive me fucking crazy.
Oh well, a digression.
I'm a whole week quit from cigarettes, and I am exercising more, and having oatmeal for breakfast. The rest of my life is still pretty much the same, health-wise, so we'll see if I've changed enough. I hope so. I hate changing.
When I see someone with a cig in hand who looks obviously unhealthy, beaten-down, completely suffering from the effects of smoking, I think: Well, we all choose our poison.
Teenagers look stupid smoking, because of all the practised affectation and the bad clothes. I understand why teenagers smoke. I just don't want to look at them doing it.
If you're a teenager, you probably look stupid doing pretty much anything except for delivering Meals on Wheels or playing chess. And even then the chance is you still look stupid. There's nothing you can do about it except dig it. Learn humility.
Adults also pretty much look stupid. The difference is we have learned humility because we've gone out there and made some failure. Humility is like a tat for your aura.
Weird. I read some Vonnegut, and next thing you know I'm writing in this bad Vonnegut rip-off tone with the same fake bohemian flourishes that stick to everything I do. I need to take a course. In how to write.
My girlfriend takes one. A few of them, actually. Last year she had what I saw at the time, and still do, as a breakthrough - instead of aping all these semi-famous (in a local kind of way) campus newspaper navel-chewers that pepper the arts weeklies of our city, she started writing seriously from herself. She found the glimmer of a voice. She got some depth.
Now she feels stuck, or so she explained to me this morning. She is having a crisis of confidence. Seems like a natural part of the cycle. Inconveniently timed, I suppose, but there never is a good time to stick your foot in shit.
I still think what she's writing is good. In her last couple of pieces, she's been trying to stretch, to write something more fanciful, not so much from her own experience, and from what I hear it hasn't really been flying in class. I jokingly suggested she write a short fiction with a main character with the same name as herself, a la Johnathan Safran Foer (What a name! Some random pounding of the keyboard), and go meta-. She informed me someone in the class has already done this. This makes me blanch in disgust.
Maybe taking a course in how to write would drive me fucking crazy.
Oh well, a digression.
I'm a whole week quit from cigarettes, and I am exercising more, and having oatmeal for breakfast. The rest of my life is still pretty much the same, health-wise, so we'll see if I've changed enough. I hope so. I hate changing.
posted by gibletquesterrs at 2:04 PM
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