December 2009
5 posts
1 tag
Gray Pellets
But after the pioneers always come the crank turners, the little gray people who take the machines others have built and just turn the crank, and little pellets of metafiction come out the other end. The crank-turners capitalize for a while on sheer fashion, and they get their plaudits and grants and buy their IRAs and retire to the Hamptons well out of range of the eventual blast radius. There...
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Iñaki Echevarne, Bar Giardinetto, Calle Granada de...
For a while, Criticism travels side by side with the Work, then Criticism vanishes and it’s the Readers who keep pace. The journey may be long or short. Then the Readers die one by one and the Work continues on alone, although a new Criticism and new Readers gradually fall into step with it along its path. Then Criticism dies again and the Readers die again and the Work passes over a trail...
A Beginning.
Night fell slowly, like an old elevator. The summer humidity made the city feel like flesh-covered bone, hardness enveloped in softness. The streets alternated between dilapidation and immaculateness; nightclubs slowly inhaled brightly-colored women and darkly-colored men; the bodegas and pharmacies exhaled fluorescently back-lit despair. The people on the sidewalks were wearing either a smirk...
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