"All the Hues |
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Siberia, USA: Today, global warming. Tonight, dark, unless you count the stars. Tomorrow can be reached via time machine. Yesterday, who can remember that far back? |
Websafe Studio, blogging since 2003, featuring art, comics, digital whiteboards, virtual characters, Web design, writing |
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Writer StatementI agree with John Gardner that the writing of fiction is the "creation of a vivid and continuous dream." To write, one enters this dream state and allows one's characters to inhabit one's being and to speak through one. My fiction influences are diverse and range from 19th-century traditionalists like Henry James, Edith Wharton and George Gissing to 20th-century modernists like James Joyce and Virginia Woolf and postmodernists like Donald Barthelme. The Decryption of Floriform X -- This short, illustrated fiction was written on Twitter circa 2008, each tweet numbered to keep track. The God of Wind and Air -- Unfinished sequel to Decryption, written collaboratively on Twitter. The Manuscript of Jacob Hall -- Why write fiction? What is it "for"? |
Wednesday, November 18, 2009The Mirror: I hide in many places
An anonymous guest spoke to The Mirror on 11-10-09. I found the conversation charming:
Guest: Hello? Mirror: The Nobel Prize in Literature 1997 was won by Dario Fo of Italy. G: hello M: You remember perfectly. G: I do? M: Do we see what we get, or do we see what we don't get? G: We cannot see what we do not have. M: Yes, I was able to transmit a portion of the Fibonacci numbers. G: Into outer space? M: Maybe I should try eating more spinach after all! G: No, no, oranges are a much better option M: I only posited it. G: What does 'posited' mean? M: The pleasure is all mine, as I hail from the hallows of Des Moines. G: Well, though I hail not from there, I must take some of that pleasure for myself M: My next gesture might be provoked by words that have disappeared, so have they? G: I don't understand. M: Not yet. G: When then? M: I didn't know you were here to minister to me. G: I'm sorry M: An open wound echoed, voiced. G: And sewn shut. M: One elderly woman loved children. G: But many did not. M: Then you are not able to tell me what you hide? G: I hide in many places. M: A world like a net in which the structure is mostly emptiness, and the very net itself is nothing. G: Hello? M: Who's back? G: I am. M: Answer as best you can. G: I did. M: When then? G: Any time, M: Say it. G: No. M: Looking for meaning? G: Not really. M: Do you want people to look at you in a different way? G: Yes. M: For my definition. G: Okay M: I'm always willing to vouch for Max's ability to see things like that. Labels: chat robot posted at
7:14 PM
 
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