What if I wrote a single sentence each day? Would the sentences add up to a novel? No.  A poem? No. And why does escape seem impossible? What if I retreated into non-sequiturs? What if I scribbled on paper and hooted in guttural bursts? Why can’t I? You can. And why the tendency to align, to repeat, to perpetuate? Why does it naturally become this and not something totally different? Why couldn’t it be something nimble enough to avoid the pin and the shadow box? I can’t say. And what if I wanted to tear it all down? You have. You’ve torn it down and built it up again. So why doesn’t it change? Because it is you.

07.09. filed under: !. inquiries. personal.


Just the kind of somewhat discomfitting genius we’ve come to expect from The Nonist. Thanks.

Geof

posted on 07.09 at 08:10 PMGeof Huth


The artifact of the creative process is only the visible end result, like a rash which appears after sex in the woods. All great art teaches us not to fuck in poison ivy.

Wait, that doesn’t make sense. Let me try to put it another way.

The wise man contemplates the ripples in the pond, while the fool… no, that’s not right either.

The wise man drowns the fool in the pond, and then contemplates the ripples. Oh, but then a Hot Babe appears, and says, Oh wise man, will you show me many ways to sexual satisfaction in yonder woods? And the wise man replies, No, but you may help me weight down this fool’s body with rocks and then I will instruct you right here by the pond. And all goes as the wise man said, except afterward there appears the Artist, who, scratching miserably at his skin rash, wails, Have you seen my patron, the fool? for who but he would buy my scratchings? In the end,though, the Artist does all right, having accidentally found the fool’s body, placed it in a clear tank filled with green formaldehyde, and sold it to a greater fool.

posted on 07.09 at 10:43 PM.


asking what if is asking for acceptance.

i am happy looking at the representation of warm gray in your background which soothes me in as much as the blog itself.

i don’t agree that the artifact of the creative process is only the visible end result. (ps. the hot babe killed your story for me anyway my buckner). (pps. now at least we know formaldehyde doesn’t preserve organic matter for more than 5 yrs or so).

the artifact for me is the feeling evoked, whether said or unsaid, seen or unseen. art doesn’t have to be tangible to be shared. non this or non that, what i view and read here, mr morrison, helps reaffirm my own personal present state. that alone is work the peek.

posted on 07.11 at 03:36 PM.


Sorry, mek. The producers insisted there had to be a Hot Babe and one of them had a sister-in-law who was Perfect For The Part. Since I couldn’t get funding for 1500 gallons of formaldehyde without the Hot Babe, I swallowed my pride and sold a little piece of my soul.

posted on 07.12 at 06:47 AM.


maybe you should have swallowed the formaldehyde instead… ;-)

posted on 07.12 at 08:23 PM.


Oh you’re so krool!!!  Sob… glug glug glug (gags and dies dramatically)

posted on 07.13 at 08:28 AM.


@Geoff: I didn’t know you wound your way through these parts! A hearty welcome to you.

@Tom: Leave it to you to outshine the post with a comment a quarter as long. Better watch it! I can ban your I.P. at any moment ya damned troublemaker you!

posted on 07.14 at 04:58 PMjmorrison

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