His near stammering. With disconcerting promptness one word hid behind another. -- Maurice Blanchot, Le Dernier Homme Contact me: red3ad (at) yahoo (dot) com


time out 

At the present time, I'm without a computer at home; the slow and grumpy antique monolith finally gave up its digital ghost a few weeks ago. It makes the apartment quieter, allows different focii. And renders time a little more slippery. What I manage now is done at work afterhours or at the library; limited by time and tiredness in both places. DVDs aside, mixed feelings about technology persist; I'm resolute about writing in pen and ink, and am presently typing out (via a 1960 Olympia manual) a fair copy of a prosework, something that actually resembles physical labor. But I do miss email. Regarding the aforementioned typescript, the potential of a new machine makes me realize that a spiffy new computer, depending on my attitude and allowing for some infatuation with the new, could significantly change some ways I approach or develop writing-work. Likely not the scratching, pacing-about generative aspects, but there is the possibility of working more things into more finished, finalized forms. (This compliments my as yet unacted upon resolution to "do something" about a box of notebooks, and at the same time conjures up some hideous phrase like "effective data management"). Writing on a computer -- I know, it's like "hey! -- welcome to the 90s!" But I'm slow and resistant about these things, and that may not necessarily be good. But there are some ruts that've been worn deep enough, and it may be time to reassess how I work, how I operate, and to a further degree, how I socialize a writing practice. I have some reservations. Whereas I have no reservations about Chiara Mastroianni singing (the film as a whole, is another matter). The tone, the light, is just right.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?