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Coyote Lessons July 17, 2011

Posted by The Typist in books, cryptical envelopment, literature, New Orleans, Odd Words, The Narrative, Toulouse Street.

A coyote is a trickster. A few days earlier I’d seen a book on a shelf in the house called Trickster Makes The World by Lewis Hyde. I read it.

A trickster lives somewhere outside the hunter and the hunted. A trickster—to get all philosophical on you—is the one who pushes through from one dialectic to the next. The one who figures out how to build a fishnet instead of stabbing at salmon with a spear. The one who can blend but can’t really fit in and who can go in disguises and fuck with people. She’s also the one who often gets caught in her own traps (though, in most of mythology, the trickster is almost always a he, but I hereby declare this should no longer be the case.)

The trickster would say it’s time to move on from this shit. The trickster would say the only way to exist honestly, to do what one needs to do to be a writer, is to convince the world to feed me while I work, to confuse the maddening choices it tries to force me to make. I have no idea how I will do this, but I know that I will

Where I Write #13: To Walk Among Coyotes, by Seth Fischer



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