The serious writer lifts his ideas like limp lychees from anywhere and anyone. Anything and anyone crossing his path becomes material. He turns silly stuff into junk and junk into art. The serious writer will defeat his demons and crush them under his ferocious foot purely by the power of observation.
In good company the serious writer uses the cognomen Watson. In bad company, he’s known as Professor Moriarty, and in haughty company, he appears as the cool icon of logical deduction, Mr Sherlock Holmes.
The serious writer hardly writes. When he does write, he uses a glass quill and fifteen different kinds of ink. He creates without getting his hands dirty, a God in his own house.
At night, the serious writer eats steak and smokes bamboo stalks. He washes the day down with a glass of scotch. His bed is a wet concern at the bottom of an iron lake where he tells himself lies, ambivalence-stricken, looking for true feeling, alone now, a ferruginous plant, watered by the people in his life.
God Bless The Flawnt!!
I hesitate 2 read & write because I’m fucking crazy! The bits & pieces I’ve read of yours have always been excellent. Good to mock oneself, that means you’re beyond being mocked by others &, even, beyond any need of further mockage. Hell, use it for fun now & then but I say you’re way past the self-mocking stage. (What do I know? Maybe it never ends. Always the optimist) Thank you
hey jim, thank for rooting for The Flawnt
your point is well taken: putting oneself down doesn’t really add anything to anyone and we can live without it. i sure can! however, i don’t write these “serious writer” cameos as a matter of self-mockery (i like “mockage”!) but, if i were to reflect (you made me!) as a way of exploring a particular type of sorry ass shadow artist. perhaps he’s inside me, then i must search and destroy…