canvas fictional poet richard brown said that he only wanted to write. but he jumped out the window anyways coz, he said, despite his best efforts, his works always come out to so much less. it's a fatalistic attitude shared by everyone who's ever tried anything creative. works always diminish or increase when rendered in a different medium -

take these blog entries, for instance. i always write them thinking of readers, watching, silent, critical. but my fiction teacher always picks on them, ahahaha. she always takes an entry and reads it aloud to the class. it feels like your words take wing and spray into air. they dissipate, dissolving to god-knows-where - i can't be too sure that my classmates are really listening.

because even i veer off into space if someone else's work is read. oh, richard wright and toni morrison have sucessfully held me in thrall. but who knows what the others are really thinking - they rightfully laugh at my parrot story and have shook my unfinished yellow house to its foundations. but... my class is mild compared to the newsroom i lash myself in every afternoon, ahahahaha. ...   ¶ 11/26/2004 11:15:00 PM