Ernest Hemingway would have died rather than have syntax. Or semicolons. I use a whole lot of half-assed semicolons; there was one of them just now; that was a semicolon after “semicolons,” and another one after “now.”
And another thing. Ernest Hemingway would have died rather than get old. And he did. He shot himself. A short sentence. Anything rather than a long sentence, a life sentence. Death sentences are short and very, very manly. Life sentences aren’t. They go on and on, all full of syntax and qualifying clauses and confusing references and getting old. And that brings up the real proof of what a mess I have made of being a man.
- teacher: are there any classes you are struggling with?
- me: the bourgeois
- teacher: what
- me: what
- karl marx: nice
Death Salon yesterday was great!!! Here are ramblings:
It was notable that the room skewed very white (a conference for death at Fort Mason is a pretty white way to congregate and talk of one of life’s mysteries) but was also predominantly female. Women filled the room as medical, scientific,…
Queer doesn’t mean “don’t label me,” it means “I am naming myself.” It means “ask me more questions if you curious” and in the same breath means “fuck off.”
Cannot stop listening to this soundtrack. Cannot. Stop.