could it be, that I keep trying to create what is better, or best, when what is real, or what is worse, is more in fashion?
we need more passion in clever stories, not technical quality; all these heartless worlds are too tedious, draining, and childish; each word should drive me forward, and give me a reason to care.
how strange would it be, to describe in words what you see, when you could send a picture or a video from a phone; how strange is it, then, to use a book to do something a screen could do better? it’s a line of thinking I can’t escape, every time I read typical, scenery-rich story-books.
best to always add some nonsense, since sense is sometimes a senseless kind of mischief
maybe all these mass-produced books from these mechanical authors are out-completing the art of instinct and intensity, and is there no hope?
we should always humanize our monsters and deify our heroes: this is progress
are we tired, yet, of four hundred pages to prove a paragraph’s worth of philosophy? a character must live, a world must breathe, and your single, sad idea is neither parent nor child nor any part of the living art; but still, ideas should be found everywhere, like flowers in a field, like corpses on a hill, everywhere in the world, and on the tip of your character’s tongue, like they are in this sad world.
do we all try to be mature, sometimes, like it’s a competition? when we just want to cry and fall in love and complain and fight and believe in something, sometimes, before the end.