Bad Food Adjectives: A List

Words or Phrases That Should Never be Used When Describing Food:
[In Menus or Otherwise.]

• Amusing
• Beaten
• Bleeding
• Blood-shot
• Bloody
• Blurry
• Calm
• Carnivorous
• Chalky
• Child-like
• Choked in
• Chuck-nutty
• Chunky bits o’
• Cloudy
• Coagulated Continue reading »

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Kerouac’s Essentials of Spontaneous Prose

Essentials of Spontaneous Prose

SET-UP The object is set before the mind, either in reality, as in sketching (before a landscape or teacup or old face) or is set in the memory wherein it becomes the sketching from memory of a definite image-object.

PROCEDURE Time being of the essence in the purity of speech, sketching language is undisturbed flow from the mind of personal secret idea-words, blowing (as per jazz musician) on subject of image.

METHOD No periods separating sentence-structures already arbitrarily riddled by false colons and timid usually needless commas –but the vigorous space dash separating rhetoricalbreathing (as jazz musician drawing breath between outblown phrases) –”measured pauses whichare the essentials of our speech” –”divisions of the sounds we hear” –”time and how to note it down.” (William Carlos Williams)

SCOPING Not “selectivity” of expression but following free deviation (association) of mind into limitless blow-on-subject seas of thought, swimming in sea of English with no discipline other than rhythms of rhetorical exhalation and expostulated statement, like a fist coming down on a table with each complete utterance, bang! (the space dash) –Blow as deep as you want –write as deeply, fish as far down as you want, satisfy yourself first, then reader cannot fail to receive telepathic shock and meaning-excitement by same laws operating in his own human mind.

LAG IN PROCEDURE No pause to think of proper word but the infantile pileup of scatological buildup words till satisfaction is gained, which will turn out to be a great appending rhythm to a thought and be in accordance with Great Law of timing.

TIMING Nothing is muddy that runs in time and to laws of time –Shakespearian stress of dramatic need to speak now in own unalterable way or forever hold tongue –no revisions (except obvious rational mistakes, such as names or calculated insertions in act of not writing but inserting).

CENTER OF INTEREST Begin not from preconceived idea of what to say about image but from jewel center of interest in subject of image at moment of writing, and write outwards swimming in sea of language to peripheral release and exhaustion –Do not afterthink except for poetic or P. S. reasons. Never afterthink to “improve” or defray impressions, as. the best writing is always the most painful personal wrungout tossed from cradle warm protective mind –tap from yourself the song of yourself, blow! –now! –your way is your only way –”good” –or “bad –always honest, (“ludicrous”), spontaneous, “confessional” interesting, because not “crafted.” Craft is craft.

STRUCTURE OF WORK Modern bizarre structures (science fiction, etc.) arise from language being dead, “different” themes give illusion of “new” life. Follow roughly outlines in outfanning movement over subject, as river rock, so mindflow over jewel-center need (run your mind over it, once) arriving at pivot, where what was dim-formed “beginning” becomes sharp-necessitating “ending” and language shortens in race to wire of time-race of work, following laws of Deep Form, to conclusion, last words, last trickle –Night is The End.

MENTAL STATE If possible write “without consciousness” in semitrance (as Yeats’ later “trance writing”) allowing subconscious to admit in own uninhibited interesting necessary and so”modern” language what conscious art would censor, and write excitedly, swiftly, with writing-or-typing-cramps, in accordance (as from center to periphery) with laws of orgasm, Reich’s “beclouding of consciousness.” Come from within, out –to relaxed and said.

BELIEF & TECHNIQUE FOR MODERN PROSE
LIST OF ESSENTIALS: Continue reading »

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Secrets Shared

[Previously shared with Carl and James Joyce and me.]

• he dreamt of obscurity, but his vain attempts at effacement would only succeed in refining and polishing a self he had lost long ago.
• once she told him a story about a white knight, and a princess that didn’t need saving. am i the knight? he asked her. no, she answered. you’re the person i’m telling the story to.
• stay, he asked her, not meaning forever.
• you’re so beautiful, he said, you’re so beautiful. she closed her eyes, and whispered to herself, i know.
• she made no mention of recent events, and how he might be the force behind them.
• he imagined holding her wrists, and not letting go, until he was done.
• she calls, only to know that he is there. and it pleases him.
• when he told her that he needed her, he meant that he needed her to desire him.
• what you lack in experience, he grinned menacingly, you can make up for with enthusiasm.
• he explained himself to her. not through what he said, but by what he refused to admit.
• she reminded him of a place that he was almost sure he would never see again.
• she was not foolish enough to attempt to save him from himself, despite his obvious need for grace.
• do you practice that smile of yours? he asked. which one? she smiled back.
• you’ll never know me well enough to know what it is that i really need, she wanted to say.
• he watches her apply, wipe off, and reapply her lipstick, yet again, and licks his lips at her compulsion.
• she asked for more, but she wouldn’t take what he had to offer.
• i’m not sure you’ve turned out to be the man that i thought i was falling in love with, she said, but you do have your moments.
• stop thinking, he said. you stop thinking i’m thinking about you, she replied.
• she was unwilling to substitute fascination for trust, or beauty for sincerity.
• you used me, she told him, and then laughed at her assertion.
• her face was made more beautiful by wisps of hair which he would brush from her cheek.
• they held each other, dreaming together, but their dreams were not shared.
• you could stop, she said. and do what? he asked. something else, she said. he threw up his arms. that’s exactly what i was doing before i started doing this, he said.
• you’ve found the right words, she said, it’s just that you never quite discovered the right order.
• there’s nothing left, is there, she said. i think there’s a pop-tart in the cupboard, he said.
• i was so wrong, he said. that doesn’t mean that now you’re right, she said.
• she saw, in the distance, a place where she didn’t hurt. but she couldn’t tell whether she was looking ahead, or behind.
• she wanted answers to questions he did not understand.
• i think i love you, he said. is that what you think, she said.
• she wondered why the shortest possible distance between him and his dreams was straight through her.
• i want to be in love with someone like you, he said, holding her closely, and laughing.
• she told him that she wanted him to leave, but forgot to mention when she expected him to return.
• i still love you, he said, to no one.
• she knew him, because she knew his failings.
• just because you can’t love yourself, she said, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t love me.
• at the point she understood his motives she no longer understood her own.
• each time, they acted as if the ending were near, forgetting that it was already over.
• she stopped longing for him when she stopped belonging to him.
• you’re always clinging to clichés, she said. you may be right, he said. but you have to admit, it’s better than talking in riddles.
• don’t worry. we’ll still be friends, he said, even after you don’t want to talk to me anymore.
• when he told her he had waited too long, it was then that she knew that she loved him.
• she would close her eyes and imagine herself as someone else, someone who possessed him.
• avalanche, she said to herself, using a secret language that only she and he understood.
• (it’s not the way you toy with my affections), he said. when did you learn to speak in parentheses? she asked.
• they would read the personals together, feigning humor, making mental notes.
• she kept the love letters he had sent her, to help mark the passage of time.
• when i try to remember what we had, he said, all i can really remember is what we wanted.
• all of my thoughts are of you, he said, and of the way you would hurt me time and again.
• sometimes, it feels as if we’re repeating the same mistakes only to forget the ones we’ve already made, she said.
• you’re not like her, he told her. that’s right, she said, i’m still here.
• he stole her heart, and kept it in a box, by the bed. she found it, one day, and asked him what it was. oh nothing, he replied.
• she forgot that the only way to love him was to make him fall out of love with her.
• it’s as if we were interrupted at some point, she said, and then we never quite got back around to finishing our story.
• he couldn’t love her, not even enough to stay away.
• we could try something new, she said. i thought you already were, he said. what was his name, again?
• you think i like this? he asked. i don’t think you know anything else, she said.
• do you love me? he asked. i’m not going to write a song about it, if that’s what you mean, she said.
• he thought of the special face she made only for him, and all the others.
• i don’t know how i could live without you, she swore to him, on a stack of travel brochures.
• she almost believed it all, until he told her that he believed in her.
• the world may not revolve around me, he said, but i could go supernova at any moment.
• i can forgive you for being unfaithful, he said, but not for being indiscreet.
• the present is just so many possible futures, waiting all together, in a crowded room, she told him, as she moved away.
• because he reminded me of someone i used to be, she told him.
• she wasn’t able to forgive him for what he hadn’t done.
• you’re the one with the steering wheel, she said. i’ve just got the pedals.
• sometimes, you make me feel like christmas, she said. and other times? he asked. the rest of the time, she said, i remember how you forgot my birthday.
• do you ever wonder if we’d be more in love if we’d never had sex? he asked her. no, she said, of course we’d be.
• i suppose i should have known that when you told me you needed your space, that you’d find it in somebody else’s closet, he said.
• she gave of herself once more, to show him how cruel he could be.
• she never knew what it was that brought him back to her, or if she had anything to do with it.
• tell me about him, he said. in a lot of ways, she said, he reminds me of you.
• if you always knew how it would end, he said, you might have at least saved us both the trouble.
• if you’re very quiet, you can sometimes hear the stars, she said. you’re not listening to the sighs of stars, he whispered, but to the impossibility of desire.
• you’ve made all those promises before, she said. the least you could do is come up with some new ones.
• can we role-play? she asked. who do you want to be? he asked. i’ll be her, she said, and you’ll be you.
• he never knew when to stop, she said, but i suppose that was part of his charm.
• i don’t really see how your need for closure necessarily entails fucking me one last time, she said.
• do you have one for me:

If you have one that you’d like to contribute please do send it along.

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