Wound-Up

In some way the impetus for this blog begins with a late night email to Warren Ellis (the author). It’s the type of email which will likely never receive a response. It was sent merely to entertain myself & force some sort of articulation. Sending purposeless, meandering letters and eventually emails was something that I used to…

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Reading Lolita In My Living Room

“For the record a ‘Lolita’ is not a young girl who wants to fuck older men. Lolita is a 12 y/o girl who is repeated raped by 36 y/o pedophile.” This was my first tweet after finishing Vladimir Nabokov’s novel Lolita. It was both a moment of realization & an attempt at clarification. Like many of…

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That Kerouac Feeling

I’ve been anxiously awaiting the film adaptation of Jack Kerouac’s novel On The Road.  That statement actually has a double meaning in that not only have I been waiting months for it to arrive at a theater near me but, in truth, I’ve been waiting since I was 16 years old. Sure, I’ve got friends…

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The Lost Art of the Letter

Have we reached a point at which the excitement of technology has worn off enough to see that we have committed little murders everywhere?  Technology is not going away with anything short of a nuclear bomb or natural disaster to decimate the population & destroy the infrastructure of society. I’m acutely aware of this fact. …

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Brain Fragments

I delved back into The Inevitable this week, if only temporarily.  I’m sure by now, if you’ve been following, you will have noticed that I tend to jump from book to book more than I plow through one book at a time. This dip into The Inevitable had me reading “Death in the Age of Digital Proliferation, and Other…

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Eyes of Freedom

Manzanar.  Its word would we should all know.  None of us do. Manzanar…short for Manzanar War Relocation Center.  It was a concentration camp.  Not in Germany or Russia.  It was a concentration camp in California.  Manzanar was one of many such camps in the United States, during World War II, in which we forcibly detained…

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Suffering Unto The Artist

In Winter Journal, Paul Auster touches upon a highly debated concept: that of the suffering artist. With nowhere to go and no money to finance a move even if you had known where to go, you stayed on in the Dutchess County house after the breakup of your marriage, sleeping on the sofa bed in the…

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Memories Like Ghosts

Memory is tricky thing. I’ve been seeing a lot of things recently that prove it not to be as solid as we like to believe. It seems memory is a bit more like a mental apparition, in that it takes on a translucent & evasive ‘shape’ and we must make of it what we can.…

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Ashes to Ashes

Well that was a busy week.  But one cool thing that I do have to show for it is my new website. Maybe it sounds strange to say but, I’ve been thinking about websites for a long time.  My intention is to build this site into the type of website that I would be excited to…

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Silence

I haven’t looked to see exactly how long I’ve neglected this blog.  Pretty terrible to make the promise of frequent posts & then go silent for a week or two.  Should I feel guilt? Fuck no. It’s not like I wasn’t thinking about this blog, in fact, you may have noticed, I changed the name.…

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