I was reading an article by a writer offering a teaching: Why we write. The first response was the loftiest. It helps us understand the arc of our lives, where we’ve been, where we are, where we’re going. That was the loftiest response. Good. I get that.
Then there is the desire to leave something. Jimmy was here written on a wall next to a bridge, that kind of thing. I get that a little less, it’s not what inspires me when I’m sitting on my porch with my machine and a cup of Joe. Old school guy.
The third thing: I feel better when I write. Better than what. Than when I don’t. I get that, I would put that second, it certainly is true for me.
The ice cream truck just came by. It’s summer. I can hear the soundtrack from the speaker on the truck from up here on the porch where myself and my beloved canines are working, me working they accompanying and watching the day from their perch on the upper deck, they are some kind of inspiration for me this I feel.
The ice cream truck is playing the Beatles’ last (studio) album I think it is, Abbey Road (there was no AI involved in the writing of this piece).
I want you. I want you so bad.
She’s so . . . heavy. OK. I get the sentiment, I like the track, the production, especially the extended ending, but – how enduring is it?
That’s another element I would mention in the Why I Write piece. Some things just don’t seem to have the gravitas to write about, they might have at one time but these days – they don’t register so – heavy. For me. Sure I want you. Yeah I want you so bad. But for how long can I sustain that in this track, and yes she is so heavy ok but I am running out of words about that so let’s make this grand ending and that might redeem the track for Beatles’ fans into the future. Finally it just stops, it cuts off because the idea can’t sustain itself. It’s too heavy for she’s so heavy if you get what I mean.
Hello, I think I love you. That would have worked. But for how long, this is as far as I think about when I think about leaving something for the future when I write. Jimmy was here. Here is called substack what the heck is that and if we destroy ourselves the future might not even grok what the heck was substack, was it a thing? Post paper?
Grok I believe is a made up word. Robert Heinlein from a science fiction, 1961. We’re not living a science fiction? Who made up more words than Lewis Carroll who died in 1898, who went down a rabbit hole. We’re using his words all the time. Future: are you still using rabbit hole? Are you using words at all?