An episode of “Murder, She Wrote” but it’s just Jessica Fletcher pulling out a tube of lipstick and writing “murder” on mirrors in public bathrooms, on the top section of her checks at dinner, on napkins and tableclothes, on her friends’ windshields, on dollar bills, on the sidewalk. Her family has her committed, and after years, she is released. She goes out for a drink, and the bartender asks if she would like the special. “What is it?” “Red rum.” “I would like that very much.” When the bartender turns his back, she pulls out a tube of lipstick, and there is every indication that she is going to write “murder,” but instead, she applies her lipstick and gets her drink. But she never puts the cap back on.

It makes more sense to write one big book - a novel or nonfiction narrative - than to write many stories or essays. Into a long, ambitious project you can fit or pour all you possess and learn. A project that takes five years will accumulate those years’ inventions and richnesses. Much of those years’ reading will feed the work. Further, writing sentences is difficult whatever their subject. It is no less difficult to write sentences in a recipe than sentences in ”Moby-Dick.” So you might as well write ”Moby-Dick.” Similarly, since every original work requires a unique form, it is more prudent to struggle with the outcome of only one form - that of a long work - than to struggle with the many forms of a collection.

from “Write Till You Drop” by Annie Dillard

Could someone, anyone please rephrase this for me? I’m not sure if I just disagree so violently that my mind can’t even be bothered to make sense of this or if I’m just missing something.

There was a rumor flying through Jerusalem.

"A man from Nazareth performed a miracle," said one neighbor to another.
“What kind of miracle?” asked the another neighbor to the one.
“He washed his friends’ feet, and he got all of the sand from between their toes.”
“All the sand?”
“Every grain.”
The another neighbor crossed herself. “This man must be the Messiah.”
The one neighbor nodded.
“Is he still here? Take me to Him.” She was wearing socks with sandals, but that was hardly helping.
The one neighbor shook his head. “I can’t. They crucified Him. Couple of days ago.”
“How did you hear about this?”
“Twitter.” A little bird landed on the one neighbor’s should and tweeted into his ear. “Oh, apparently He is risen. Retweet that.”
The little bird flew away.

The travelogue, in its current incarnation, works best as private musings, as raw details and observations given the time to ferment into a remark of substance, as a means to occupy one’s self in train station waiting rooms, buses on smooth roads, during layovers. The pages and pages and pages that one may accrue should be summarized as a yes or no to ‘would you move there,’ and details should then be shared only when a returned traveler is directly asked to elaborate, otherwise he or she rambles in an attempt to present his or her view of the Golden Gate Bridge as unique. If a returned traveler produces any such travelogue, simply point out how much more he or she could have done and seen and eaten had those pages been left blank until returning.

"Coping with Summer Travelers" by Dr. Marilyn Brezniewski

Film No. 29

grouchomac:

"The Gap"

A follow-up to “Dr. Strangelove” that explores what a mine shaft-based society established during a 1960s nuclear war would look like 50 years out.
Basically, “Snowpiercer” without the train.

I forgot that the Poles already did this 30 years ago: Seksmisja.