Saturday, October 29, 2011

Really Long Virginia Woolf Sentence

Here is a doozy of a sentence from To The Lighthouse, by Virginia Woolf. Smarter people have already written too many smart things for me to add anything useful, but this book is fantastic. Nothing happens. There's a whole section that describes the goings on in an empty house. The maid is sent to open the place back up, and here's a sentence (a single sentence) describing her singing some old song to herself as she works alone in the long-empty house:
"Rubbing the glass of the long looking-glass and leering sideways at her swinging figure a sound issued from her lips—something that had been gay twenty years before on the stage perhaps, had been hummed and danced to, but now, coming from the toothless, bonneted, care-taking woman, was robbed of meaning, was like the voice of witlessness, humour, persistency itself, trodden down but springing up again, so that as she lurched, dusting, wiping, she seemed to say how it was one long sorrow and trouble, how it was getting up and going to bed again, and bringing things out and putting them away again."

 If you haven't read this book, read it.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

an angry, bipolar golfer

As much as a few on the right are loath to admit, we live in a society. We are not merely a collection of self-serving individuals.

 As much as a few on the left are loath to admit, our society is made up of a collection of self-serving individuals. 

I believe there is a sweet spot in the middle, where self-determination meets social responsibility. This sweet spot is lost in partisan politics. We are like an angry, bipolar golfer trying to drive a golf ball 300 yards with a warped baseball bat.

Sunday, October 02, 2011

A Cheap Buzz

When you stop drinking after years of drinking, sobriety becomes its own type of madness. A long period of Clarity of mind is in itself a strange high, and it can be fun, as long as you can fold it in on itself. Thinking too much is a cheap buzz.

A Shabby Trailer By The Side Of The Road

Your religion is like a house of mirrors. You are born into it, as a child you are told it is real, and you believe in it. But once you get out of it, you see it is nothing more than a shabby trailer run by carnival workers. Even if you wanted to, you can't just decide to go back and live again in illusion, because you'll know it's fake.

About Me

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I am the author of 8 books: Android Down, Firewood for Cannibals, Brain Giblets, The Cubicles of Madness, Booze and News, Get Your Zen On, Zen Happens, and most recently, Robot Stories. I live and write in Michigan. My website is at danmanning.com

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