ME: I need you to buckle up back there, buddy.


ME: I just do.


ME: Because I want you to be safe.


ME: Because I care about you.


ME: Because you’re my sister’s son. And I care about her.


ME: Because I just do.


ME: Because, I guess, when I was born, she was three years old and, like any younger sibling, I put her on a pedestal.


ME: I probably idealized her, which is strange considering that your mom was not very nice to me.


From Jesse Eisenberg’s “My nephew has some questions” in The New Yorker.


Fairies killing it

Rayssa Leal skateboarding.

For Simone, her return to the Montreux Jazz Festival was a grudging reclamation of the stage after a period of tension back home. For Hill, her Unplugged performance was a gentle but unapologetic expression of her new identity as an artist. Chappelle’s performance in Hartford felt consistent with his decision to leave his show eight years prior (his departure was in and of itself perhaps the most profound act of self-definition any black artist has committed in the 21st century).
“I still don’t understand awards shows,” West said. “I don’t understand how they get five people who work their entire life, won, sell records, sell concert tickets, to come, stand on a carpet and for the first time in their life, be judged on the chopping block and have the opportunity to be considered a loser. I don’t understand it, bro! I’ve been conflicted. I just wanted people to like me more. But fuck that, bro! 2015. I will die for the art—for what I believe in—and the art ain’t always gonna be polite.”From Rod Bastanmehr’s “When black artists declare their autonomy” in The Atlantic.



On being fiction-averse

One can become unable, in certain emotional states, to read fiction, and for me there is a similar ‘fiction-averse’ component to human experience, where things can seem so intensely real that you don’t want, or aren’t capable of, any distance from them at all. Having a baby seemed like one of those periods; getting divorced was another.

From Rachel Cusk in “Rachel Cusk on her quietly radical new novel, Outline” in Vogue by Megan O’Grady.

I’ve always been someone who lives very much in my head. The startling, terrifying (and sometimes exhilarating) thing about becoming a mother was that that vanished almost immediately. I couldn’t think in any sustained way anymore; my mind flitted from thing to thing, and the novel I’d been writing for years no longer made much sense to me. My purpose became quite simply to keep her alive. My body was either on high alert or utterly exhausted.

From Jenny Offill in an interview with Megan O’Grady in Vogue with “Scenes from a marriage: Jenny Offill on modern motherhood”.

Soon I began to realize that my posts were more interesting than my “official” journalism. They were more direct, asked deeper questions. Out poured visceral, accessible scenes and snippets of overheard speech laced with speculation and curiosity, and addressed, in my imagination, to people I knew. The audience was exactly the right muse.

The writer’s point of view regarding Facebook reflects that of many people in younger generations. The need for connectivity and semi-instantaneous feedback trumps any concerns about privacy, intellectual property rights, or targeted advertising.

Before Gutenberg made us a people of print, literature was developed in public performance just as much as it was in private, by a solitary writer slaving over a page. “Hearing rather than sight … dominated the older poetic world in significant ways,” Walter Ong, the scholar of literacy, has written. Homer and the classical Chinese poets refined their works in front of audiences. Even as we fell in love with print, much great writing was done at first as a kind of conversation between people, like the work fleshed out in Anais Nin’s letters to Henry Miller or the poet Rilke’s to the young Franz Kappus.

From Eve Fairbanks’ “My favourite writing tool: the Facebook status update” in the LA Times.


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 5,378 other followers