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[reply]

i said, "bear with me because
this is where the sentence runs,
and it has strong legs."

he lived in a paint house that once belonged to an old church, where the important keys were verbal and windows were drafty. his bookshelves were filled with photo albums, emptier than the souls of every church goer on sunday morning, waiting for redemption;

Comments

[anonymous]

you're too interested in a bunch of extraneous details to use the word "living." shouldn't be allowed.

[anonymous]

i disagree. i think she is actually somewhat of a skilled writer, and probably not too bad at that everyday life shit, either. i just wonder... if she visited a psychiatrist, what would *he* call it?

[anonymous]

v: hey, shut the fuck up... she's over there. *he gestures to the left in a subtle fashion, more looking like he's adjusting his shirt collar... relaxing, he returns his hands to his pockets... he takes a drag off his cigarette without so much as holding it, his lips creating the slightest leverage in coordination with his self-conscious breathing pattern... it rises and falls gently with a cascade of cherry ash* ...why we out here, anyway? stand around in the atrium like we get it, right? *he extinguishes the cancer stick on a memorial plaque, ducks his head and moves toward the indoors* put your fucking camera away and let's go.

[anonymous]

?: i saw how you were mugging and shit... what's worse... *tucks his camera in his pocket and follows... wherever... whenever..., but he's the one who tends to do the talking... been that way for a while now* i had a look in a dictionary today... was like, "writing: the act of distilling one's self-perceived cultural insight in a mixture that, if given the form of... for example, a coffee, would come across as offensively rich... just banging keys, basically... hoping something makes some sense to somebody..." not really, and we're getting outside the quotes here, but... the sole arbiter of the value of a cultural offering is not a direct function of its informational density... in fact, they're scarcely related. i believe, in "so many words," that it's a crime to make something irrelevant look intriguing enough to deserve attention.