Litkicks Message Board Archive
I called this some bullshit about writing, but call it whatever you want
The new writing hierarchy, siting in chairs emotionally loved and cared for. The classic shit writer’s screenplay version of a writer. The tools of the trade for a writer, he must have his trusty laptop and old standard weather beaten chair that he rocks his back on the nights when fuelled by adrenalin he sits up all night writing reams of pages about any number topics his mind not focused on anything except the relentless click of the keyboard. He is ma who can tame women not with good locks or a long hard cock but just in the manner of his speaking the way in which through careful practice the words can fly or float of his long with poetry that is possessed from birth. The not to distant dreamer who when dreaming is transported to other ecstatic worlds of non-existent stories where everything he sees cannot be told simply or quickly and cannot be told with any complexity or longevity. He spends his life trying to track down one of his dreams and place on a page in perfect language so at last his mind may sleep and his dreaming stops.
Is that a writer the new literary hierarchy’s version of a writer that doesn’t exist anywhere, except in the minds of martinis and cocktail lounge soirÃ©e’s where the discussion of his complexion and makeup make minds buzz, walk out onto the street and see his scraggly figure as it stumbles home on back of some writers memory only awakening to find himself a drunk and alone.