It starts with a beginning.
McEwen says: "It began with a sentence where I say they were young, educated and sexually innocent and they lived in a time when it was difficult to talk about sexual problems, and I thought well, who are they? When was this time? I just doodled my way into a first sentence, and by writing the first half of the first chapter, I unfolded ahead of me, like a carpet unrolling a short novel." A first sentence, and then I wondered who they were. Doesn't everyone wonder constantly who these people are around us?
Auster concurs. He doesn't know where they're going. Mr Bones? He seems to live with a neurotic hypochondriac. Perhaps that explains dog as protagonist.
On Tuesday for once in Shakespeare I knew. Knew that Egeus was meant to be Indian, that this first scene, this hysteria about an arranged marriage sits well in an Indian context.
A text from Noonie says the moon is a particularly silvery kind of silver tonight but I don't see it, at least not low enough in the sky.
Later in the week we're trying The Ivy and I'm trying not to like it.
Ray says he wanted to do the presentation to his team in interpretive dance because earlier he'd been at the offices of Google when they were trying to talk about You Tube and the video didn't work. How we laughed and felt superior. How genuine it must feel to communicate via interpretive dance.
There's a man wanderig around The Ivy. He looks as if I could run into him in the bookies area at Newcastle Racecourse and I wonder if Justin Hemmes is that smart, to place, to employ someone so original. I decide not. I decide that I want to talk to this curiosity but the bridge and tunnel crowd seem to have him sewn up.
Either way you caught me whilst a lying. Two dinners of fine cheese.
Shakespeare and opera. Reconsidered this week.
McEwen says: "It began with a sentence where I say they were young, educated and sexually innocent and they lived in a time when it was difficult to talk about sexual problems, and I thought well, who are they? When was this time? I just doodled my way into a first sentence, and by writing the first half of the first chapter, I unfolded ahead of me, like a carpet unrolling a short novel." A first sentence, and then I wondered who they were. Doesn't everyone wonder constantly who these people are around us?
Auster concurs. He doesn't know where they're going. Mr Bones? He seems to live with a neurotic hypochondriac. Perhaps that explains dog as protagonist.
On Tuesday for once in Shakespeare I knew. Knew that Egeus was meant to be Indian, that this first scene, this hysteria about an arranged marriage sits well in an Indian context.
A text from Noonie says the moon is a particularly silvery kind of silver tonight but I don't see it, at least not low enough in the sky.
Later in the week we're trying The Ivy and I'm trying not to like it.
Ray says he wanted to do the presentation to his team in interpretive dance because earlier he'd been at the offices of Google when they were trying to talk about You Tube and the video didn't work. How we laughed and felt superior. How genuine it must feel to communicate via interpretive dance.
There's a man wanderig around The Ivy. He looks as if I could run into him in the bookies area at Newcastle Racecourse and I wonder if Justin Hemmes is that smart, to place, to employ someone so original. I decide not. I decide that I want to talk to this curiosity but the bridge and tunnel crowd seem to have him sewn up.
Either way you caught me whilst a lying. Two dinners of fine cheese.
Shakespeare and opera. Reconsidered this week.
posted by noonie at 1:56 AM
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