now playing: garçon de mon age by thefrenchkris
In the beginning was the word.
what did you do today?
not much. writing.
oh yeah?
yeah.
anything good?
no.
no?
i wrote the word ‘word’ a thousand times…
oh.
yeah.
why?
i don’t know.
on monday i wrote the word ‘word’ a thousand times.
today i’m writing about writing the word ‘word’ a thousand times.
this article will be a thousand words long when it is done.
it is not done yet.
i am still writing it.
but sooner or later it will be done.
i will know when it is done because it will be a thousand words long.
‘done’ is an adjective. it describes something no longer happening.
‘done’ is also the past participle of the verb ‘do’.
‘do’ is one of those big small words that has a thousand or more meanings.
make do
do the dishes
do drugs
do down
do up
do over
do time
do overtime
do without
do in
do me from behind
do me
next
please
do does
murders
mugs
and makes love
do does it all
and it does it in style
people sometimes ask me:
what do you do?
i do writing, i say.
what did you do today?
writing.
do as i say
not as i do
do, or die
i look online for synonyms for the word ‘done’.
ready
(too ‘steady cook’)
at an end
dead
gone
dead and gone
(to be doubly sure)
fucked
fulfilled
finished
today, it is easy.
writing a thousand words is like writing a hundred words.
how to write
a hundred words:
a word at a time
a word at a time
a word at a time
a word at a time
a word at a time
a word at a time
a word at a time
a word at a time
a word at a time
a word at a time
a word at a time
a word at a time
a word at a time
a word at a time
a word at a time
a word at a time
a word at a time
a word at a time
a word at a time
a word at a time
you may be wondering, did i type that out
as it were
word by word?
or did i type it the first time, and copypaste the rest, like any normal person?
like any normal person
like any normal person
like any normal person
like any normal person
like any normal person
like any normal person
like any normal person
like any normal person
like any normal person
like any normal person
like any normal person
like any normal person
like any normal person
like any normal person
like any normal person
like any normal person
like any normal person
like any normal person
like any normal person
like any normal person
like any normal person
like any normal person
like any normal person
like any normal person
like any normal person
yes, today, it is easy.
writing a thousand words is like writing one word
a thousand times.
THE SOUND OF THE TYPER. Sometimes I think it was only the sound of the typer that I wanted.
Charles Bukowski, like any normal person
this week i am reading philosopher, essayist, aphorist (pea), e.m. cioran’s, the trouble with being born (1973).
my copy is a marginally-misprinted cyan-spined penguin modern classics edition. the front cover is a full-page moody monochrome of the author, wearing a darkly academic turtleneck/blazer combo; out-of-focus interlinked fingers foreground, out-of-focus bowl on plate on modernist stainless-steel table background. on the back cover, the blurb begins aptly: ‘disaster…’
i picture myself reading the trouble with being born on a train, or on a bus, or on a park bench – somewhere public. i wonder what the other passengers and passers-by are thinking about me. do they think i’m an intellectual, or a pseudo-intellectual? do they think i’m trying too hard? i try not to look like i’m trying too hard.
what does reading this book say about me?
what does reading this book in public say about me?
what does wondering what reading this book in public says about me say about me?
A work is not finished when we can no longer improve on it, though we know it would be inadequate and incomplete. […] What determines the degree to which a work is done is not a requirement of art or of truth, it is exhaustion and, even more, disgust.
E.M. Cioran – The Trouble with Being Born
exhaustion and
even more
disgust
these days, i only read books written by depressives; better yet, suicides.
everyone else seems to be selling something that i’m not buying.
word porn: word porn word salad salad spoon porn salad school girl spoon porn porn school girl spoon girl girl salad porn spoon salad word spoon girl school porn spoon word word salad word
once upon a time, when writing was just a thing i did, and not the thing i do, i would write like this.
like i’m mudlarking on the thames.
like i’m looking for something, but that something might be anything.
might be a pebble
might be a pipestem
might be a photograph
might be a word
might be a thousand words
might be an hour or two when i don’t wonder what i’m doing with my life
when i don’t wonder why i do what i do
and just do what i do.
what do i do?
why write the word ‘word’ a thousand times?
why write a thousand words about writing the word ‘word’ a thousand times?
maybe
because i wanted to do something i’ve never done before
because i wanted to think, without thinking
because i wanted to do, without doing
and now, i think, it’s done.
i’m done.
exhaustion and
even more
disgust
postscript:
boring word association: welcome to the boring word association association where we associate words in a social environment there's also coffee and cake and other baked goods i'm sure you'll fit right in