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Eleven interesting quotes, from a hoard obsessively collected over many years with no particular rhyme or reason

One of the things that I do instead of driving fast cars and dating supermodels is collect interesting quotes. This is, perhaps, a sign of a larger psychosis, but any time that I run across an interesting string of words in a book, or a movie, or an advertisement, or a website, or a conversation with a homeless person, I go and write them down in a tiny little notepad .txt file that gets copied over to every computer that I've ever owned, like an immortal sorcerer putting his soul into a new host every millennia. Anyways, I thought you might like to see some of them! There is no particular rhyme or reason to them, other than that they grabbed my attention in some way, but I like to think that surrounding myself with these things has improved my own writing. Without further ado, here's a dozen interesting quotes given in the order that I wrote them down an unknown number of years ago: "Godzilla is the son of the atomic bomb. He is a nightmare...
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The Great Gumdrop Robbery is Poetry

A quick followup to my previous post about Russel Hoban's The Hungry Three series! A friend of mine who happens to be both a professor of poetry and also a poet herself pointed out that the opening of The Great Gumdrop Robbery also happens to be poetry. Quoth the poet: "Your analysis of the paragraph noting the repetition/patterns and fairytale conventions is spot on, but the meter is a significant factor as well, contributing to the paragraph's incantation-like quality." She suggested looking at the following stanzas of Edgar Allan Poe's "Raven" and Samuel Taylor Coleridge's "Kubla Khan" as "examples of comparable meter": Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore— While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. “’Tis some visitor,” I mu...

A reading recommendation: Russell Hoban's The Hungry Three series (and also some accidental spicy werewolf romance novel plans, but that's on me, not Russell)

My friend Lars likes to use the phrase, "Garbage in, garbage out." He's usually talking about data reports, but I believe that it also applies to artistic endeavors. By which I mean: READ DUMB CRAP = WRITE DUMB CRAP. (This is, I believe, why niche genres so quickly become a race to the bottom as each generation is written by people who have only read the previous generation until the dialogue of our domineering-but-emotionally-vulnerable-CEO-mobster-werewolf-in-gray-sweatpants love interest becomes so thin that you could shave with it*, but I digress.) *See Chapter 47: He Reached for His $57 Bergemot-scented Shaving Cream with Taloned Hands, and I Melted Anyways, today, we are going to talk about reading good crap. Specifically, we're going to talk about reading critically underrated Anglo-American author Russell Hoban's literary masterworks. Most people (that is, 3 out of the 5 who know what I'm talking about) associate Ru...

Vim Part IV: Three Wounds

A tiny bit of Vim for you today! Just a morsel really, but I have been very sick. I have much more written, but it is still in the throes of revision. (There are some interesting pitfalls to navigate when writing an epistolary narrative ((that is, a story made up of letters or journal entries)*), and I am afraid that I fell into several of them in the segment with which I'm currently struggling – but more on that when I finally post those chapters!) *Yes, our parenthetical statements are so profound that they possess their own parenthetical statements.** **AND footnotes!*** ***Seriously, it's like a Russian nesting doll in here.**** ****Yes, I recycled this joke from the New Game+ Journal in Defender's Quest. My apologies if you are one of the 3 people who's read it before. In the meantime, I hope you can enjoy our poor brain-damaged-eunuch-scribe-turned-grave-robber's latest adventure. While it may not be our hero...

Watch out, world - I have a keyboard and a headcold.

For my birthday, my brother gave me a MIDI keyboard controller... and a head cold. …The world is not prepared for the sheer volume of hallucinogenic-rock-organ-synth-space-electronic currently barreling towards it. To get into the right mind space, I've been consuming a steady diet of cough syrup, 9 Inch Nails, and the GameCube soundtrack to Metroid Prime (supplemented with hourly naps and the occasional foray into Vangelis and/or ambient sound scapes from Thief: The Dark Project. Oh, and Conan the Barbarian.) It's been an interesting time. For the longest time I thought of music as a kind of alien, magical world that belonged to other people – I could enjoy the things that came out of it, but to venture into it myself was totally impossible. This might still be the case, but I've got enough cough syrup and overdrive buttons to not notice. Seriously, you can hook an amp up to anything in here. Oboes, clarinets, saxophones, NOT...

Why are so many videogames about violence?

Bam! Pow! Zap! Other sounds of beeping and blooping digital destruction! From Spacewar! all the way back in 1962 up to the present day, an overwhelming number of videogames are devoted to (or heavily feature) violent combat of some kind. It's something for which modern social critics and game designers often feel a kind of shame. “Surely, this is what's holding us back from true respectability as a grown-up medium,” we whisper in the shadowed booths of hookah lounges and bratwurst bars*, "This must be what makes us not quite as good as movies. Why are we so devoted to violence?” *Or wherever we hipsters nest these days. It’s easy to write this off with a simple "because teenage boys are the primary demographic, and teenage boys are awful." However, I think there’s a little bit more going on under the hood here. A quick aside: What do we mean when we say “game”? For our purposes, I'm go...

Vim Part 3: The stone is sharp

Happy Friday! For those of you to whom reality provides an insufficient amount of psychedelic, grave-robbing shenanigans amongst the rusting hulks and inhuman powers of the fallen future, I have another slice of Vim! ...Poor Grit the Quill is out of the snake-siege and into even greater insanities. If you'd like to start the narrative of our brain-damaged-eunuch-scribe-turned-tomb-raider/something-less-than-reliable-narrator from the beginning, you can find the first two chapters here: ( Read Part One here. ) ( Read Part Two here. ) And now, without further ado, Part 3! PREPARE YOURSELVES FOR WEIRD. The stone is sharp. They bring the infants up by helix steps to cast them down upon its point, and in that fall they read the fate and future. Such was my dream that I dreamt as we lay below the moon-glowing mirk and waited to be killed. The old wound hurts greater than the new. These are not my thoughts. They were germs on...

What if Disneyland were staffed by animals? A completely deranged pile of insomniac scribblings from a slow and sleepless Saturday.

Thanks to an unexpected bout of insomnia last night, I am currently operating with approximately 3.5 hours of sleep. I also have 39 pages of rambling, incoherent, hand scrawled notes for something called The Cleverest Beast , which apparently felt very compelling in the wee hours of the morning. I have transcribed those notes here because, you know, why not? Without further ado, I give you the deranged ramblings of the Hyde-esque antimatter alter ego who apparently takes control of my faculties once I cross the insomnia event horizon: Here beginneth the account of Zombie James According to an interesting article sent to me by a friend, Franz Kafka believed that insomnia (from which he suffered most of his life, in case you couldn't tell from his million yard stare and/or the fact that everything he wrote was a waking nightmare) was a great artistic tool. I don't know how much I wish to base my life on Kafka's (for one, I'd like ...