Tyler Weaver's Blog, page 28
September 23, 2019
Why I Write Here (Revisited, Probably)
Post-new-ink molting continues, remnants of black ink all around the house, a trail if I ever get kidnapped; The Shadow, fortunately, remains defined.
Why I write here, defined (if only for myself)… one, as a creative challenge to myself requiring that I produce something every day (with Sunday’s newsletter being the seventh Informality); to counter the slowness required of the next book; and to transform those orphaned stragglers of thought into something approximating value (again, if onl...
September 22, 2019
September 21, 2019
Richard Piers Rayner, ROAD TO PERDITION
(from ROAD TO PERDITION, by Max Allan Collins and Richard Piers Rayner, p. 115.)
Three-Plus
Two years ago today, a mile into my run, some ignominious sack of shit abandoned a 14-month old (give or take) puppy in front of me, dumping her at a power station and speeding off.
Each time I run past that power station – nearly every day since – I can still see that car speeding off, the occasional pang of panic whenever a similar car (though the exact car has faded from memory becoming, inevitably, a composite of all cars) slows down or passes me or speeds up or is parked somewhere; I c...
September 20, 2019
Bob Dylan, “One More Cup of Coffee”
One of my favorites; if we ever get a fourth season of TRUE DETECTIVE, let this be the theme song. Also: Scorsese’s ROLLING THUNDER REVUE documentary is fantastic.
Wrist-Cyborg, Day 26
(Preface: Contrary to what the above might suggest, I’m not falling out of love with my beloved Watch – I just liked Frank R. Paul’s superb cover painting, from “The Spore of Doom,” in WONDER STORIES, February 1934, via Robert Lesser’s essential PULP ART: ORIGINAL COVER PAINTINGS FOR THE GREAT AMERICAN PULP MAGAZINES, and wanted to use it here.)
Upgraded cyborg-device (Series 3) to WatchOS6 last night. Bit of a lag on tapping to open but I loathe the wrist-raising random lightshow so I’ll li...
September 19, 2019
KoiSitting
A friend is moving: their koi needed a pond to rent. We obliged. Gill-baby turf war, ongoing. (The Trench?)
MumblePen
Mad dash to get that precious Claritin pill down in the interregnum between fits of sneezing… the church parking lot paving the soundtrack to the morning, blacktop and blasphemes.
My handwriting as the written equivalent of mumbling, of talking with my hand passing across my mouth: as though I want to say something but I don’t want to be understood – Enunciate! I write in the margins; mumbled, of course.
This isn’t to say that I’m not striving – still, ad infinitum – towards improvement, sl...
September 18, 2019
Borges, “A Theologian in Death” (1935)
“Then he began to write something about charity; but what he wrote on the paper one day, he did not see the next; for this happens to every one there when he commits any thing to paper for the external man only, and not at the same time for the internal, this from compulsion and not from freedom; it is obliterated of itself.”
Jorge Luis Borges, “A Theologian in Death” (1935).
Borges, 1935
“Then he began to write something about charity; but what he wrote on the paper one day, he did not see the next; for this happens to every one there when he commits any thing to paper for the external man only, and not at the same time for the internal, this from compulsion and not from freedom; it is obliterated of itself.”
Jorge Luis Borges, “A Theologian in Death” (1935).
