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Nine January 23, 2014

Posted by The Typist in 365, New Orleans, The Narrative, The Typist, Toulouse Street.
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“But no matter how old we get there should always be that sense of living on the margin of impossibility.”
— Ray Bradbury, from his introduction to Timeless Stories for Today and Tomorrow, taken from McSweeney’s No. 45.

Just in time, I am caught up. Committing to write something on this blog every day worth more attention than Like button affords is a serious undertaking. I don’t think loosely bracketed quotes are cheating. Long-time readers will remember these fondly from before I let things here fall into a state of wobbly, cob-webby neglect. Am I caught up at nine? I’m not going to go back and count but I’m fairly certain. I am so far behind on so many things. I have two unopened McSweeney’s Quarterlies, I discovered while looking for a book. Writers are like sharks: if we stop reading, we die. That little sliver of pixels–“Past: Writer” I saw on my Facebook profile were like a pair of defibrillator paddles on my chest.

When I saw the cover of this number of McSweenney’s, titled Hitchcock and Bradbury Fight in Heaven, off came the slip wrap in a moment. I skipped the letters for later and breezed through the introduction to get into the piece quoted above. I should be reading Anthropology or studying Biology For Dribbling Liberal Arts Idiots, Section Two, but I think that unlikely today. Will I make it to class even? Will I hide in the back as I did through months of my sophomore year in high school attentively devouring Gravity’s Rainbow?

“True, the greater part of life is a real and nasty business, with more failures than successes, more illnes than health. Many of us quit early and threaten to drop out of the game. But give us another afternoon in a field, or a certain rain in the air outside the office window, or an hour of night when we wake to find the house asleep in moonlight, surrounded by our families, and we are set to go again. An occasional breather, a refresher, a bit of luck, a happy meeting, can make us cling once more to this soiled small bit of existence with a ferocity that borders on and surpasses insanity. ”
— Ray Bradbury, ibid.

Hello, hello/
Hello, hello/
It’s good to be back.



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