‘The Mad Storks’, Writing by Dead Writers, David Foster Wallace, #2

 [It had started with Orin Incandenza, the cleaning. When relations were strained, or she was seized with anxiety at the seriousness and possible permanence of the thing in the back Bay's co-op, the getting high and cleaning became an important exercise, like creative visualization, a preview of the discipline and order with which she could survive alone if it came to that. She would get high and visualize herself… Continue reading ‘The Mad Storks’, Writing by Dead Writers, David Foster Wallace, #2

What are we?

The sleeping world, and the end of the thoughts. What are we? What am I? These words are paintings of thoughts, of just that, of just there, of voices inside of our heads. Two days, gone. Today, gone. Still, gone. Writing brings back the insanity that I wish I still suffered from. In the basement with  black and white… Continue reading What are we?