Get the Quote of the Day from Mark Z. Danielewski
Is it possible to love something so much, you imagine it wants to destroy you only because it has denied you?
I took my morning walk, I took my evening walk, I ate something, I thought about something, I wrote something, I napped and dreamt something too, and with all that something, I still have nothing because so much of sum'things has always been and always will be you. I miss you.
Make no mistake, those who write long books have nothing to say, Of course those who write short books have even less to say.
[...] Beneath all that cool pseudo-academic hogwash lurked a very passionate man who knew how important it was to say "f!&$" now and then, and say it loud too, relish its syllabic sweetness, its immigrant pride, a great American epic word really, starting at the lower lip, often the very front of the lower lip, before racing all the way back to the back of the throat, where it finishes with a great blast, the concussive forse of the K catching up then with the hush of the F already on its way, thus loading it with plenty of offense and edge and certainly ambiguity.
An old man's mind is just as likely to wander as a young man's, but where a young man will forgive the stray, an old man will cut it out. Youth always tries to fill the void, an old man learns to live with it.
The blind must rely on the feeble light of fingertips and the painful shape of a cracked shin. Echolocation comes down to the crude assessment of simple sound modulations, whether in the dull reply of a tapping cane, or the low, eerie flutter in one simple word -- perhaps your word -- flung down empty hallways long past midnight.
"The poet, sick, and with his chest half bare/ Tramples a manuscript in his dark stall,/ Gazing with terror at the yawning stair/ Down which his spirit finally must fall." - Charles Baudelaire; As translated by Roy Campbell.
F!&$. A great by-the-bootstrap prayer or curse if you prefer, depending on how you look at it, or use it, suited perfectly for hurling at the skies or at the world, or sometimes, if said just right, for uttering with enough love and fire, the woman beside you melts inside herself, immersed in all that word-heat.
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