An excerpt from my (aborted) nanowrimo…

January 22, 2007

Can an author really live off his own excrement. Because anyone worth his wait in cynicism knows that this is all that writing it, a writer’s shit. Bull shit doesn’t get its name from high school english students for nothing. If it takes a BS to read BS, then shit is the currency of anyone interested in the “literary” (literally rarely cared about) arts. The national book stock exchange should list “pure grade A manure” right next to Proust, and put Jane Eyre next to shit shoes on the board. And then the world would be right in how it is. And then I could sleep at night. Because I can’t sleep at night.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: