Straying From the Path…

I have a bad habit.  It’s the breaking of that age-old rule that any creative writing class has posted somewhere in it’s classroom.  “Do not, under any circumstances fall into the habit of writing to your readers”.

Someone over at Les’ place brought up Richard Brautigan.  I haven’t heard him mentioned in polite society for years and years.  Everyone is as ready as a gunslinger to draw a bead on you with their Henry Millers or their William Burroughs(as Les says, I don’t know these guys)…but no one feels the Sombrero Fallout any more.  To me, Brautigan is all mixed up with the faux comedic Firesign guys…and that era.  A time gone by. Perhaps campy, perhaps not. There is very little appreciation for  word-crafting now.  Few craft every sentence…every word…every allusion.  It is all illusive imagery and hit em with a thousand words, when two or three could make their point. Prose fashion, I guess.  I always held that brevity is the soul of wit… and depth.  I guess that’s why I always liked Brautigan. Or maybe it’s because he was a poet at heart. Or maybe it’s just because I am simple.  In his slim volumes he could evoke for me, many more emotions and thought provoking images than fifty thousand words of Burroughs.  But there is no accounting for tastes. 
There is something about the “tortured soul” that attracts me.  That writer that can barely breath for want of some joy, or can barely write for some joy that they have discovered. And can successfully relate that in prose.  That is probably why I also love the Russian writers.

I can’t do that.  Wish I could.

I have a mission here, but I don’t want writing “style” to get the better of it. Vanity, all is vanity.  All that.  But by the same token, I don’t want to write to the least common denominator…write to my readers by scribbling what they expect…and have read a thousand times before. Points can be driven home so much more meaningfully and can last longer when they are slipped into the brain slot without causing much notice. Without the beating about the head and shoulders. Dostoevsky understood that.  Pynchon understood that.  Hemingway in his later years knew it as well.  This is not meant to read like a who’s who of favorite authors, but it is beginning to sound like it.

Anyway, the mission here as I have bound myself, is to reveal all I can about the judaic psyche and it’s negative influence on us all.  If I can do this without you coming away needing head bandages, all the better.  If I can tickle one intelligent, well educated brain and perhaps show it that this is not prejudice to grasp the ashkanazi coup that is taking place at this moment around us, then maybe I can feel that I haven’t just written to my readers, but have provided some clearer view of this devastation.  Every movement needs leaders.  It is human nature.  For good or bad, nothing of import gets accomplished without direction.  I guess I want to, at the very least, inspire one of those leaders of the future.  This may be vanity again, but I see so few out here that can hold their own.  That can think on their feet, and display a believable and trustworthy image.  This is not because they aren’t out here. I want to help coax those that are, out of their comfy political correctness, and join the fight. And coax them with human logic, not wild-eyed invective. There are the Ken O’Keefes and even the George Galloways…but far too few Les Visibles and Gilad Atzmons.  Ones that are willing to name the beast. 
Just sayin…


6 thoughts on “Straying From the Path…

  1. I'll have to find that page that makes fun of all Dougie Visibles groupie comment section chorus. Those same people buy snake oil and sample the kool-aid. Hopefully they all zip off to shangri la where the fallout won't reach through the good vibes and patchouli. Mystial shit dood,groovy. Naw followers don't have the heart for that. Too bad they will never have 1/1000th the spankin' writing "talent" of someone not known beyond tinfoil hat internet land. No gods, no masters, no gurus.

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