I recently was introduced to Gertrude Stein (“What? Introduced? You didn’t know who Gertrude Stein was? you little-useless-piece-of-brown- stained-sheet! Pretend writer !)
Yeah anyway. So Gertrude Stein is famous for lines like ” A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.” For more…search
I now hate the fact that I know about her. Because that makes my Crazyness not crazy. It is a style. a way of writing. Something thats actually gotten some one famous. Some one of the 1920s…..I knew i was reincarnated. I knew my soul, my spirit had lived all of this before. Little wonder i never was in my entire life fascinated by the idea of Paris. of France….. I lived there. in the 1920’s. somewhere within Ms. Stein. Maybe i was the inspiration for the African Masks inspired Art. Picasso, silly.
Maybe am not making sense right now. Maybe i never will ever make sense. And probably this is the only part of my crazy-non-crazy writing that is mine. only mine…Please don’t point me to yet another one of the greats. An Asian writer maybe? One who lived in the 1914’s? BECAUSE THAT IS WHO I HAVE ALWAYS FELT AS. An old japanese woman, smoking harshish (i cant spell it. hang me), writing away, with her featherly hands. seated by a dark window on high chair. looking out into blackness. Using her writing as lighting. Trying to understand why everyone loves the sunlight, the moonlight, candle light…all sorts of artificial lightings. why god is portrayed as light. why fairness is light….why white is light???
I dreamt of the sun last night. the rays heating my skin. i stretched out. while standing, and busked in it. It wasn’t the sunlight i was busking in. It was its warmth. its sweet burning rays. I called a friend over. to feel what i was feeling… Interpretation of the dream: Am generous. i love to share my little pleasures.
another interpretation… I hate winter. It might come with great coats, jackets, gloves and shoes. Still i hate it. I hate the summer more. Translation…. I love my continent!. I wanna go home…well, not so fast. I will be living a summer this christmas. thats good enough. am not bitching.
So anyway, before i got carried away into a pointless monologue this is for why am blogging today;
“It’s a damn poor mind that can think of only one way to spell a word.”
– Andrew Jackson
Why are people so obsessed with grammar, and so offended by real or imagined lapses? They argue over split infinitives and sentences that end in prepositions, almost to the point of blows.
Ps. I miss Tumwi.