i drew a picture of my mom’s new favorite black actor, star of such films as “thorn: the dark world” and “specific rim”
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@rorymccarthywrites
i drew a picture of my mom’s new favorite black actor, star of such films as “thorn: the dark world” and “specific rim”
Kanye’s confidence and self-worth is Tibetan monk-level solid and it will not be brought down because you are trying to throw mud balls at a blimp.
I wrote about Kanye West and the Grammys for The Hairpin! Is it self-aggrandizing of me to put a quote from something I wrote in the same format I’d use for a Churchill quote or something? I don’t know! Probably! Read my thing! (via demiadejuyigbe)
“Perhaps the whole root of our trouble, the human trouble, is that we will sacrifice all the beauty of our lives, will imprison ourselves in totems, taboos, crosses, blood sacrifices, steeples, mosques, races, armies, flags, nations, in order to deny the fact of death, the only fact we have. It seems to me that one ought to rejoice in the fact of death―ought to decide, indeed, to earn one's death by confronting with passion the conundrum of life.” ― James Baldwin who was born on this day in 1924
Devil’s hand aka creeping hand of death ca. 1920.
"The notion that the species can be improved in some way, that everyone could live in harmony, is a really dangerous idea. Those who are afflicted with this notion are the first ones to give up their souls, their freedom. Your desire that it be that way will enslave you and make your life vacuous." ― Cormac McCarthy, who was born on this day in 1933
This guy gets it!
I brainstorm, you brainstorm, but genius needs a good editor, or, an alternate universe wherein lived a good version of Jack Kerouac
Pretty much the main literary event of 2015 is something that a large amount of people think shouldn’t be happening: the publication of the long sat-upon Go Set a Watchman by Harper Lee. The reason said people think said event shouldn’t be happening is because it appears that it may only be happening because of Harper Lee’s dementia and its “discovery” by her lawyer two months after the death of her sister/caretaker.
But this is neither here nor there. Something I want to focus on is how several reviews of GSAW have said that the book is unspectacular, but stands as a point of interest since it contains the seeds of what was later to become the To Kill a Mockingbird. Lee’s editor, Tay Hohoff, had encouraged Lee to develop further into what she believed were the strongest points of her novel - Jean Louise ‘Scout’ Finch’s recollections of her childhood. And so it goes. This is arguably the strongest result of editorship in literature. Editors are usually seen as people who trim away at the edges a little bit, who do a bit a of fact-checking, who correct any wayward typos - and this is when they’re not seen as bamboozling fuckups, as is in the interesting case of the Nabokov masterpiece Signs and Symbols - but sometimes, evidentially, they can do an incredible amount of good. I then started wondering: who else could have truly benefited from a much better editor? Jack Keroauc’s On The Road was initially rejected multiple times by publishers, and subsequently edited to be tighter and tighter (so much for the myth of it being the result of pure wild ecclesiastical beatific thought processed through a scroll as fast as it was remembered) before being published into the novel we all know and having violently varying opinions about. Yes, it announced a way of living and a counter-culture mindset to literature that has arguably heretofore been absent, and thus inspired the beats, the hippies, Bob Dylan, etc. etc. etc. onto the modern day. It also essentially invented the wanker hipster, and it’s practically worshipped by that unbearably pretentious guy on your MFA. And it bored the hell out of me. Except for one niggling aspect of genius. One occasionally reoccurring faint spark of actual brilliance. Something that seemed to come about when he wrote “We lay on our backs, looking at the ceiling and wondering what God had wrought when He made life so sad.” Something in the line “I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.” Something Jack was digging into when he said “LA is the loneliest and most brutal of American cities”. Something that got waylaid, that we were hideously distracted from with all this stuff about his boring, narcissistic, charmless friend Neal Cassidy and the inept jazz writing and the car stealing and the relentless droning quest for kicks. At uni, a friend of mine lent me Kerouac’s Lonesome Traveller to try change my mind about him. And it did. It solidified what I’d been thinking. Every story was, again, a pretentious self-loving rigmarole of meaningless movement across the States and back, up until one story titled Alone on a Mountaintop. “After all this kind of fanfare, and even more, I came to a point where I needed solitude and just stop (sic) the machine of ‘thinking’”, it begun. Keroauc goes on to tell us how he applied with the US Agricultural Department for a job as a fire lookout in the Mount Baker National Forest in the High Cascades of the ‘Great Northwest’. The advantage of this job, as he saw it, was the great loneliness it would entail, spending a whole season out on this mountain by himself. And that’s all the tale is. A melancholy calm between so much movement, a beautiful, American pastoral peacefulness that’s tender and slow and thoughtful, and though flawed (it spins off into too much student/recreational-drug-enthusiast philosophising around the end), you can see a Jack Kerouac who could really write something interesting, something profound, something that was insinuated in both the story and the collection’s title. Like the editor who told Harper Lee to go and focus on Scout’s childhood, we needed an editor to sit Jack down and tell him that the beat thing was mainly a distraction from his real talent - as a great chronicler of human loneliness. As someone who really looked into the great, essential divide between everyone. As a mind desperate for connection in a body being thrown all over the place in a search for fun that never really translated to that much fun on the page. But so it goes. I wonder what else we could have had with the right editor at the right time?
“Writing on a computer can be terribly distracting, so sometimes I like to use a pencil and paper to jot down ideas. I always end up drawing a cartoon duck. Inevitably, the duck is holding a notepad, and I can read the ideas that he wrote down.” At Clickhole, six writers explain how they overcome writer’s block.
I count too heavily on birthdays, though I know I shouldn’t. Inevitably I begin to assess my life by them, figure out how I’m doing by how many people remember; it’s like the old fantasy of attending your own funeral: You get to see who your friends are, get to see who shows up.
Lorrie Moore, Anagrams (via vintageanchorbooks)
I don’t want a style. This was something that I was trying to explain earlier, that I want the book to invent itself. I think that the minute a writer knows what his style is, he’s finished. Because then you see your own limits, and you hear your own voice in your head. At that point you might as well close up shop. So I like to think that I don’t have a style, I have books that work themselves out and find their own voice—their voice, not mine. So I’ll have that illusion, I think—I hope—till the very end.
E.L. Doctorow (via mttbll)
We’re giving away another one of our 100 favourite non-fiction books (you get to choose which one). To get involved just reblog this post. Not on Tumblr? Tweet a link tagged #tetw. We’ll pick a random winner. No cash alternative. Judge’s decision is final. Bla bla bla.
A perfect duet.
This is probably the funniest thing I've ever made.
Two endangered species today, the Oryx and Crake. The oryx is a species of antelope found in Africa whose name comes unchanged from the Ancient Greek name Ὂρυξ (oryx). The red necked crake pictured here is a small, flightless Australian bird. The name crake comes from the Old Norse kraka or krakr meaning a raven, crake or possibly crow, and then possibly onomatopoeically for the sound crows and ravens make. Today is the birthday of Margaret Atwood, Canadian novelist and essayist, notable for The Blind Assassin, The Handmaid’s Tale, and the novel Oryx and Crake. If you don’t know her work, now is a great time to start!
"I tell you what that boy’s funny!"