Jude,
I was leaving my house a few days ago and was looking at the detritus that is mine. The Polaroids, news clippings, various entertainment vehicles. This is your life. This is me. Something you said struck me. How I act after reading yesterday's newspaper. You nailed me. Some of the most obvious things for other people just hit me, violently, years later. Instead of feeling like I was the last to know, I feel grateful that it is better than late than forgotten. Thanks for that.
I have been writing alot lately. Finding things, arranging them. I feel like a Rilke quote in Letters to a Young Poet. Being a writer, sometimes it isnt an option. It is a proclivity, sickness, all consuming need to tell a story, get it down, get it right, all the time. Napkins, notebooks, scraps with one liners and fortunes. So I am not really sure if I am a writer or just an arranger of the mundane and extraordinary.
Why the hell is middle America so obsessed with crime dramas? Follow up: strange furry sex fetishists on CSI? We could put cameras in L.A. public schools or in Iraq? Entertainment ...
Martin Amis on Charlie Rose, also Norman Mailer
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