from Roth's American Pastoral

And yet what are we to do about this terribly significant business of other people, which gets bled of the significance we think it has and takes on instead a significance that is ludicrous, so ill-equipped are we all to envision one another's interior workings and invisible aims? Is everyone to go off and lock the door and sit secluded like the lonely writers do, in a soundproof cell, summoning people out of words and then proposing that these word people are closer to the real thing than the real people that we mangle with our ignorance every day? The fact remains that getting people right is not what living is all about anyway. It's getting them wrong that is living, getting them wrong and wrong and wrong and then, on careful reconsideration, getting them wrong again. That's how we know we're alive: we're wrong. Maybe the best thing would be to forget about right or wrong about people and just go along for the ride. But if you can do that-- well, lucky you.

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas everyone.

Finis

So in America when the sun goes down ... I think of Dean Moriarty. For I had walked thus far with my lady on the hill, and I didn't know what came next; all I saw was the rift. Now small fowls flew screaming over the yet yawning gulf; a sullen white surf beat against its steep sides; then all collapsed, and the great shroud of the sea rolled on as it rolled five thousand years ago. I took her hand in mine, and we went out of the ruined place; and, as the morning mists had risen long ago when I first left the forge, so, the evening mists were rising now, and in all the broad expanse of tranquil light they showed to me, I saw no shadow of another parting from her. Yet my eyes decieved me; she turned suddenly and said: "I must go in, the fog is rising." She left me with my lighted expanses. I lingered round them, under that benign sky; watched the moths fluttering among the heath, and hare-bells; listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass; and wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers, for the sleepers in that quiet earth. But then I heard a strangely familiar voice retelling: "They hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, Through Eden took their solitary way." Just so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past. But that is the beginning of a new story - the story of the gradual renewal of a man, the story of his gradual regeneration, of his passing from one world into another, of his initiation into a new unknown life. That might be the subject of a new story, but our present story is ended."

New Aeijtzsche time, new Aeijtzsche channel

Hello dear fellows.

I have started a blog that I hope will become a clearing house for my creative endeavors. Feel free to visit and read the first essay I have written exclusively for my blog. Feel free to comment on the subject as well as the quality of the actual writing.

Here's the link

http://aeijtzsche.blogspot.com/