Those who read the aesthetic (artistic ) written to provide a satisfaction , or even if such an objective can reach this level of formal and contextual features of all written works of literature is called . Literature is a form of expression . Thoughts and feelings beautifully and effectively be defined as the art… Continue reading What is literature?
Seated at last, you prepare to write, only to find yourself besieged with petty distractions. All of a sudden you remember a friend you had promised to call, some double- A batteries you were supposed to pick up, a neglected Coke (in another room) growing warmer and flatter by the minute. If your paper is… Continue reading Writing a Rough Draft
8th January, 1946 Mr. Sidney Stark, Publisher Stephens & Stark Ltd. 21 St. James’s Place London S.W.1 England Dear Sidney, Susan Scott is a wonder. We sold over forty copies of the book, which was very pleasant, but much more thrilling from my standpoint was the food. Susan managed to procure ration coupons for icing… Continue reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato Part 1
Pedestrian Bystander Goose bumps. Forgotten jacket. It’s fall. Side streets are wet off Sunset. Petrichor adorns as bold steps sound of puddles found. Throbbing city screams along. Alone, I’m lost in thought again, swallowed up by Los Angeles. Godforsaken sidewalks. Goddamned crosswalks! Los Angeles wayfarers calm traffic. Until green falls on idling minds, then progressive… Continue reading Pedestrian Bystander
7 Days On the first day of your death, I will not cry, or look to the door, expecting you to enter. I will take a key and lock my memory tight. On the second day of your death, I will walk weakly to the kitchen and eat alone. I will swallow whole, without the… Continue reading 7 Days
Icarus standing in the kitchen in your indiana jones hat, you roll out the last tortilla (put cheese in the middle and don’t forget the oil of life -- and lots of it) and talk to the dog. max whines from the floor, rearranging tirelessly every time his pawpads slip on the dirty white tiles.… Continue reading Icarus
Plant Your Feet I’ve got the Seven Sisters in my eye, gleaming, And a secret in every word, steaming, boiling, evaporating. Now and then I water my roots and I drink, drink, drink, Hydrated and in love. When we stay here and waste thoughts on wilted ferns, I become confused, And dizzy, gyrated. What isn’t… Continue reading Plant Your Feet