About Norway by ThuleanPerspective

Writing is hard. But it’s the only valid art form. You get better when you get old. Not like the movies – $10 million in cameras; herd a bunch of weird pretty cretins around while the light fails and you lose your shot. As Mamet says, lovingly swabbing down the warty helmet of MasterCard Multinational Financial Services Corporation with his greedy old tongue, in an ad that Facebook knows to autoplay every god damn time I log in to see who’s in love, having kids, successful – AKA not me – as the esteemed dramaturge intones in his Principal McVicker voice, in the ad Facebook knows to play because I’m a “writer”: more gold… need… more… reptilian gold...

Wait – that’s not a MasterCard ad. Sorry David. What he says is: I brought my pencil. Gimme somethin’ to write on, man. He’s right.

The good news is you don’t need anything. Just decades of unsparing agony that feel like millennia. The bad news: it’s the least valued skill in the world. Whatever was left, sucked out by white people paying black people 1/100th of a cent a word to make other white people feel bad. Sponsored by MasterCard. There are no good living American writers. Someone should remedy this. I’m trying but I also have a real job.

Other good news: Gogol and fucking Catullus still sound like they have a microphone in your head. Hundreds, thousands of years later. Across half the planet. The comedians around them may have had better lives. The musicians, the actors, such as… such as… exactly. Say what you will about David Foster Wallace. He’s dead but the motherfucker’s still with us. Cuffing his own hands so he won’t yank off the noose. It’s those clever details you remember. – Delicious Tacos