Dear Kids:
I have some bad news. Chicken Paprika as we know it is dead, buried behind Aunt Betty's barn. But from all bad things like death and and construction sites, come good things, like resurrections and room changes.
This is now a place to rant, rave, and obsess about literature or things that we can loosely, but always fascinatingly, connect back to literature. What do I mean by literature, you ask? Well, I mean nothing, and I mean everything. I don't read Judith Butler or Roland Barthes as much as I should, but if I do, I will post what I think here.
Classrooms are stifling these days. I can't say what I feel, I have to say what I think, and those thoughts have to be very grounded in the text or I lost my license to practice reading. I say bah! to that. It's time to hash it out, to write unfettered. We are all apologies and niceties, and while respect to the author and the text is important, sometimes shit is shit and it sucks to read it.
Will you help me in this next unworthy endeavor?
Sincerely,
Me
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4 comments:
hah. you're killing an internet blog?
I thought it was always a place for rants and noticings and such. but we got to submitting writing, so we did that for a while. it's alright.
just write and read shit. no need for dramatics or grand gestures. it's just a place that we can get together and bounce things around. It doesn't need a mission statement.
The blog is dead! Long live the blog!
Viva la revolucion! Viva la France! Viva les hommes homosexuels! (er...un moment...les homosexuals? Pourquoi?
POURQUOUI PAS!)
Viva les bebes! Viva les femmes domestiques! Viva les hommes et femmes qui n'ont pas la mystique!
Sorry. The revolutionary spirit swept over me like the irish potato plague. It saddens me to see the pap go the way of the dinosaur and evolve into a creature 1/10 it's size (i.e. the bird, or something) but if our illustrious leader deems it so, it must be so. Forget not however, my liege, that we are mere writers - emotional and irrational being that flit from ideas to prisons to france to ideas - thusly, we need room to flit.
Hopefully the newfound scope of our endeavors will not prove constrictive to any of the genius spilling forth.
[To Jon: You were up at 4 a.m., I so would have called you, I was up at 4 a.m. as well.]
[To Alesia-lemon-snicket-love: Sorry I missed your im, babe. I was high on mescaline. j/k. I was watching heroes, then I read forever.]
I don't know if this is the place for it, but I have a wicked rant coming that will seek to bash the hip-hop community as we know it, to go with the new creedo we have here at CP (the new shorthand for those unfamiliar, i.e. everyone but me) maybe I'll throw in some references to James Baldwin and something pretty about Foucault.
Viva la paprika! Viva les poulets!
do whatever the hell you want, I just wanted us to write again.
Papas:
TAG YOU'RE IT.
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