Sep 2018
in the end there are only two genres
in literature -
type 1:
a navy seal retires,
has lived his life and what not,
retires,
and then writes a book
about his life -
the sort of book that would
encourage you to live
the life he's lived...
which is not going to happen -
no matter your literary drive -
the life isn't there -
and it's not exactly high-brow
literary ambitions that
is missing -
it's simply that the life is
there,
the Blitzkrieg selling rates
of such books,
people, "oddly" enough like
an authentically lived
experience to prop up the
dry narrative of:
what probably constitutes
ghost writers...
a Casanova type of books,
autobiographies...
but wait...
what happened to the autobiography
genre?
last time i checked,
all these reality t.v. celebs have
about 5 "autobiographies"
to boot...
and they're what... licking 40
a.m. (our mortal god's years
of the fidgety limbs?) -
what's up with that?
so it's not an autobiography per se...
memory loss, premature dementia?
i was misdiagnosed with that...
schizophrenia...
that's fun...
what is?
a misdiagnosis...
whenever i watch t.v. i play a game
of spotting a familiar face...
i'm usually right...
photographic memory...
i can recognize a face...
kind of a requirement living
in the labyrinth of outer
English suburbia...
******* ferris wheel quasi confusion:
but always speeding up...
type 1 books?
a summary of a well lived life:
joined the army,
traveled the world,
learned Brazilian martial arts,
****** a lot of women...
began the day by jogging
at 3am with the milkman...
books you should read in your youth
and be fed the desire to live
a symbiosis of it, imitate it...
funny... cloning is not a scientific
concept, physically...
sure... that much is true...
but cloning a mind...
converting someone to pray five
times a day on a Persian rug?
religion...
religion was the first instigator
of cloning, prior to science,
cloning is such an old concept,
it predates the scientific breakthroughs...
how else?
you have to clone and replicate
the mind, before the body is
investigated as being enclosed in
the equivalent capacity for,
said, "conversion"...
i guess for the elites
clones are much effective than what's being
fed for the bourgeoisie...
look... the rich care more about
the poor than the middle class...
because they know that the poor
can only pass on genes...
which muddles the bourgeoisie, a lot...
it feeds them passing on
memes -
less genes - more memes -
the rich can father replicas by passing on
both: genes... & memes...
the poor can only pass on their genes...
the bourgeoisie?
they can't do both...
and since they can't pass both...
they have concentrated on passing memes
rather than genes...
and you know where that leaves them?
evidently sexless -
or at least with a 0.5% rate
of population replenishment....
not a nice place...
but that's only type 1 of literature...
type 2:
the sort of antithesis of an autobiography,
someone that is on-going...
gravitating toward an expansion
of a personal vocabulary...
the sort of book, you can't write,
and never will,
because it depicts a life:
YOU DON'T WANT TO LIVE.
**** me, it would be grand to
live the type 1 literature,
settling in some comfy armchair aged
70, and reminiscing...
you have that last *******
watching memory cinema,
you can lie, juxtapose through the fabric
of oncoming dementia
memory loss...
life is dandy...
but type 2 literature?
ever notice the ongoing onslaught with
wordings and linguistic observations?
those supposedly inorganic aspects of
language -
words acting as inanimate objects?
oh but they breath -
sure, they fall in and out of fashion -
but a flesh eating body of flesh
still managed to utter them,
somehow, never mind the etymological
genesis -
only when there is
the complete slaughter of encoded language
will there be talk of an "etymological"
exodus...
but that's beside the point...
this type 2 of writing?
no magical life formula...
no joining the army,
or ******* a lot of women...
the whole sha-sha-bang!
in the end i hold dear to the fact that i'm
not a fiction escape-artist...
i hate escapism -
esp. of a fictive nature,
well, fictive "nature" per se...
give me a philosophy book or
some obscure poem and i'll
turn a cognitive labyrinth into
a Pamplona bull charge...
as i also wanted to travel to Munich for
the Oktoberfest...
but never did...
guess it's true:
you can never get what you want,
might as well do with
what you have and must like it...
i.e. if you don't have what you
like: like what you have.
very few people write type 2 literature...
most write type 1...
let's face it...
there's type 2A and type 2B...
type 2A is fiction...
escape artistry...
****... that's three genres then...
type 2B has one motto:
my life is so ******* boring, that...
i decided to write...
well... "bored"...
rather... predictable...
but i can't imagine the horror
of having lived such a challenging
and exciting life of type 1...
and then reducing it to farting into
an armchair...
and getting a ghost-writer to
script my open mic monologue...
ah...
i'm sure that few people will
write a type 2B...
too few people have
lost their "necessity" to dream while sleeping...
i stopped dreaming per se,
even if i do conjure up a dream...
it's so much *******,
so Jackson ******* that
even Freud couldn't get
a cucumber or an oyster metaphor
out of it.
in literature -
type 1:
a navy seal retires,
has lived his life and what not,
retires,
and then writes a book
about his life -
the sort of book that would
encourage you to live
the life he's lived...
which is not going to happen -
no matter your literary drive -
the life isn't there -
and it's not exactly high-brow
literary ambitions that
is missing -
it's simply that the life is
there,
the Blitzkrieg selling rates
of such books,
people, "oddly" enough like
an authentically lived
experience to prop up the
dry narrative of:
what probably constitutes
ghost writers...
a Casanova type of books,
autobiographies...
but wait...
what happened to the autobiography
genre?
last time i checked,
all these reality t.v. celebs have
about 5 "autobiographies"
to boot...
and they're what... licking 40
a.m. (our mortal god's years
of the fidgety limbs?) -
what's up with that?
so it's not an autobiography per se...
memory loss, premature dementia?
i was misdiagnosed with that...
schizophrenia...
that's fun...
what is?
a misdiagnosis...
whenever i watch t.v. i play a game
of spotting a familiar face...
i'm usually right...
photographic memory...
i can recognize a face...
kind of a requirement living
in the labyrinth of outer
English suburbia...
******* ferris wheel quasi confusion:
but always speeding up...
type 1 books?
a summary of a well lived life:
joined the army,
traveled the world,
learned Brazilian martial arts,
****** a lot of women...
began the day by jogging
at 3am with the milkman...
books you should read in your youth
and be fed the desire to live
a symbiosis of it, imitate it...
funny... cloning is not a scientific
concept, physically...
sure... that much is true...
but cloning a mind...
converting someone to pray five
times a day on a Persian rug?
religion...
religion was the first instigator
of cloning, prior to science,
cloning is such an old concept,
it predates the scientific breakthroughs...
how else?
you have to clone and replicate
the mind, before the body is
investigated as being enclosed in
the equivalent capacity for,
said, "conversion"...
i guess for the elites
clones are much effective than what's being
fed for the bourgeoisie...
look... the rich care more about
the poor than the middle class...
because they know that the poor
can only pass on genes...
which muddles the bourgeoisie, a lot...
it feeds them passing on
memes -
less genes - more memes -
the rich can father replicas by passing on
both: genes... & memes...
the poor can only pass on their genes...
the bourgeoisie?
they can't do both...
and since they can't pass both...
they have concentrated on passing memes
rather than genes...
and you know where that leaves them?
evidently sexless -
or at least with a 0.5% rate
of population replenishment....
not a nice place...
but that's only type 1 of literature...
type 2:
the sort of antithesis of an autobiography,
someone that is on-going...
gravitating toward an expansion
of a personal vocabulary...
the sort of book, you can't write,
and never will,
because it depicts a life:
YOU DON'T WANT TO LIVE.
**** me, it would be grand to
live the type 1 literature,
settling in some comfy armchair aged
70, and reminiscing...
you have that last *******
watching memory cinema,
you can lie, juxtapose through the fabric
of oncoming dementia
memory loss...
life is dandy...
but type 2 literature?
ever notice the ongoing onslaught with
wordings and linguistic observations?
those supposedly inorganic aspects of
language -
words acting as inanimate objects?
oh but they breath -
sure, they fall in and out of fashion -
but a flesh eating body of flesh
still managed to utter them,
somehow, never mind the etymological
genesis -
only when there is
the complete slaughter of encoded language
will there be talk of an "etymological"
exodus...
but that's beside the point...
this type 2 of writing?
no magical life formula...
no joining the army,
or ******* a lot of women...
the whole sha-sha-bang!
in the end i hold dear to the fact that i'm
not a fiction escape-artist...
i hate escapism -
esp. of a fictive nature,
well, fictive "nature" per se...
give me a philosophy book or
some obscure poem and i'll
turn a cognitive labyrinth into
a Pamplona bull charge...
as i also wanted to travel to Munich for
the Oktoberfest...
but never did...
guess it's true:
you can never get what you want,
might as well do with
what you have and must like it...
i.e. if you don't have what you
like: like what you have.
very few people write type 2 literature...
most write type 1...
let's face it...
there's type 2A and type 2B...
type 2A is fiction...
escape artistry...
****... that's three genres then...
type 2B has one motto:
my life is so ******* boring, that...
i decided to write...
well... "bored"...
rather... predictable...
but i can't imagine the horror
of having lived such a challenging
and exciting life of type 1...
and then reducing it to farting into
an armchair...
and getting a ghost-writer to
script my open mic monologue...
ah...
i'm sure that few people will
write a type 2B...
too few people have
lost their "necessity" to dream while sleeping...
i stopped dreaming per se,
even if i do conjure up a dream...
it's so much *******,
so Jackson ******* that
even Freud couldn't get
a cucumber or an oyster metaphor
out of it.
