Lit Category
The Man Who Saw Everything by Deborah Levy
Posted on February 9, 2020 Leave a Comment
We are lucky to live in the world of Deborah Levy.
Posted on November 24, 2019 Leave a Comment
Maybe stories, fiction or not, give solace, context, possibility, as much with their stable, recurring forms as with their infinitely various contents, and thereby produce examples of lives shaped, framed so they are recognizably distinguishable from emptiness, from darkness that seems always to surround and render lives unseeable.
Posted on November 23, 2019 Leave a Comment
To speak up is not about speaking louder, it is about feeling entitled to voice a wish
R S Thomas, ‘Lore’
Posted on October 11, 2019 Leave a Comment
One of my favorite poems of all time 🙂
Posted on November 9, 2018
The stories that you tell, the words that you use and refine, the characters you try to give life to are merely tools with which you circle around the elusive, unnamed, shapeless thing that belongs to you alone, and which nevertheless is a sort of key to all the doors, the real reason that you spend so much of your life sitting at a table tapping away, filing pages. The question in every story is the same: is this the right story to seize what lies silent in my depths, that living thing which if captured, spreads through all the pages and gives them life?
Posted on October 31, 2018
To read is not a virtue; but to read well is an art, and an art that only the born reader can acquire.
Posted on October 11, 2018
If you start out to write a poem about two dogs fucking, and you write a poem about two dogs fucking, then….you wrote a poem about two dogs fucking.
Posted on October 2, 2018
Now that that organism has, for good or ill, its own self-sufficient equilibrium, why should I entrust myself to the media? Why continue to mix its breath with mine? I have a well-founded fear that the media, which, because of its current nature, that is, lacking a true vocation for “public interest,” would be inclined, carelessly, to restore a private quality to an object that originated precisely to give a less circumscribed meaning to individual experience.
Posted on September 10, 2018
The most important thing is to write in your own blood. I bare intimate feelings because people should know how other people feel.
Posted on July 6, 2018
Surely all art is the result of one’s having been in danger, of having gone through an experience all the way to the end, to where no one can go any further.