Four Great Motives For Writing, by George Orwell
Putting aside the need to earn a living, I think there are four great motives for writing, at any rate for writing prose. They exist in different degrees in every writer, and in any one writer the proportions will vary from time to time, according to the atmosphere in which he is living. They are: 1. Sheer egoism. Desire to seem clever, to be talked about, to be remembered after death, to get...
And as the days go so goes the sky and as skies go so go minds, hearts, assorted cellular viscera muddled down to dreams ________________________ and dreams steaming up from sewer grates like New York fogs, saxophones blazing over burnt sienna 70s butt-rock parodies—but where were we?
The air smells of salt and tastes of dust a chalk as fine as powdered wig workshops and black cats waiting in the wings in the dark for tunacan handouts and rainwater in beercans and broken mirror beardtrims of SatNite pre-revel drunk on nighttime and sauce— powdered nose nightcaps powdered nose nosebleed powdered nose bloodsneeze— filling up only to empty and fillup...
This Is The Real Shit
They told you this was the real shit. The good shit. “The best shit around, ATM.” You think it is shit. But in the crowded smoky bar, mashups mashing in the background, the hipsters speak of it almost mystically. This is the real shit. PBR cans crush underfoot. Pretty girls blow smoke into the faces of hapless boys in jean shorts, and the hapless boys drink the smoke like a sip...