Yes, Virginia, it is strange.

October 24, 2007 in Uncategorized | 4 comments

44637181362002_24211213620022.jpgI have this friend, Owen, whom I have always loved for his wit, his charm, his fashion sense and his grasp of the program. Owen’s affection for vintage Pendelton shirts and nice shoes has set him apart from the pack as my favorite, my only, Retro-Sexual. The label reconciles the odd conjunction of his impeccable yet quirky taste with his heterosexuality. The only thing of Owen’s sharper than his dress is his tongue.

We are great friends. Obviously.

Since Owen is studying English literature at university, I sometimes ask him for his input regarding style or some technical point of grammar in my writing. After this evenings little suggestion about the editing of some words or the placement of commas, I have decided that Owen really needs to meet Virginia. Wolf. And since one of my favorite sentences, yes, sentences, by Ms. Wolf is about illness I thought it might be fun to share with all of you, now.

Considering how common illness is, how tremendous the spiritual change that it brings, how astonishing, when the lights of health go down, the undiscovered countries that are then disclosed, what wastes and deserts of the soul a slight attack of influenza brings to light, what precipices and lawns sprinkled with bright flowers a little rise of temperature reveals, what ancient and obdurate oaks are uprooted in us in the act of sickness, how we go down into the pit of death and feel the waters of annihilation close above our heads and wake thinking to find ourselves in the presence of the angels and the harpers when we have a tooth out and come to the surface in the dentist’s arm-chair and confuse his “Rinse the mouth - rinse the mouth” with the greeting of the Deity stooping on the floor of Heaven to welcome us, -when we think of this and infinitely more as we are so frequently forced to think of it, it becomes strange indeed that illness has not taken its place with love, battle and jealousy among the prime themes of literature.

Now, if you should say my sentences run on or I should need a comma or take out a clause or if you say that the extra words I use add nothing to the point I am trying to make, then I shall simply fill my pockets with rocks and walk into the river. Please play something by Phillip Glass as I go.

  1. DKThinker on October 25, 2007 at 3:50 pm

    Chris,

    I, for one, read the blog for the kinda twisted, funny, insightful mind behind it, not the grammar or commas. For the record.

    No, this is not a fawn-fest - just statement of fact. I’m definitely not prone to flattery, on either end. Just description.

    I hope you continue to let it out rather raw, the best kind of writing. Too much working over, and it’s like play dough all mixed together until brown. Who cares about mistakes; gimme good, raw material to think on. Sharp and edgy, fresh. Angular. Poignant. Y’know, that sort of thing.

    Although, I must admit, I have to enjoy any work which, in the scope of 24 hours, uses both “cerulean” AND “whom” in the text. LOL

    And Marc, if you’re out there: One of my favorite movies is Baraka.

    IMHO, FWIW
    -DeeK

  2. Owen on October 25, 2007 at 6:36 pm

    Virginia Wolf is afraid of her period.

  3. Chris on October 25, 2007 at 6:54 pm

    Ah, yeah. The writing. The writing the writing the writing. I never understood what one writer meant when he said the difference between regular people and writers is that writers write. Period.

    I thought you had to have a ‘creative idea’ to write or that some ’story’ wanted to come out of your head or you had something really meaningful to say. I would stare at a page and think I had to have some thought or inspiration to set the writing in motion.

    I thought I had to be good.

    At approximately the same point that I threw out the idea that I had any idea how to keep myself sober, I also threw out a bunch of other old ideas. My ideas about writing were among them. The first day I was able to crawl out of bed and find a keyboard I realized I had something to say. I didn’t know what it was, but it was something. I didn’t know how to say it, so I just started talking. I didn’t know who I was saying it to, so I assumed it was someone who gave a shit about me. Ultimately thats where the truth lies, in laying myself bare to myself, my creator and (anonymously) to those who love me enough to trudge through it.

    I am not a writer, but writing has equaled getting sober in terms of being spiritually fulfilling. Writing has changed how I know God.

  4. Scout on October 26, 2007 at 1:32 pm

    You ARE a writer, Chris.