by ANONYMOUS
Ain’ t it cool? Have you heard the good news? The Revolution is coming. They’ re calling it …“ World Spring”. Know what that is? That’ s the new way! It’ s where, for whatever reason, all those war-mongering morons in power get the troops to lay down their weapons, and end all the wars- overnight. And then the whole wide world links cyber-arms across the skype-nations and starts swaying to and fro singing a techno-remix of a remixed version of‘ We Are The World’, or‘ I’ d Like to Teach the World to Sing’, or‘ Give Peace a Chance’, or whateverthefkitis. Imagine that. No more wars! No more conflict. No more enemies. No need for heroes. Only love. Peace ever after. Across the lands. Paradise. On earth as it is in heaven. Eternal Bliss. Stupendous. Can you see it? Huh? Can you? Great. Now let me ask you something:
WHAT THE FUCK IS LEFT TO WRITE ABOUT???
I’ m all for peace on earth. But then what? World Spring? Yawwwwn. Sounds like bliss. Predictable, uneventful, boring bliss. Fortunately the drama, excitement and big flashy fireworks of WW3 lies between this Ned Flanders’ type utopia and us.
Still we writers are in grim danger of losing our raison d’ être. It’ s happening. Some say it already happened. And we weren’ t paying attention. The old world was not the only thing to die come the end of 2012. I’ m talking about nothing less than the slow agonizing death of story. That’ s right, I think, the first casualty of the passing of the old world was story. It happened, and we barely noticed. It slipped past us undetected maybe because we were just too busy cyber-surfing, or blogging, or thumbing out texts, or watching crappy, CG-driven, soulless, formulaic, franchise movies, or playing with our happy apps and violent video games. Think about it. When last did you read a book or poem, watch a movie, hear a song that made you feel the way those things did about a decade or two ago?
You’ ve read the greatest book you’ re ever gonna read? To some it’ s Ulysses, to others it’ s Harry Potter, the rest it’ s LOTR. Great. You’ ve seen the greatest movie you’ re ever gonna see? Godfather? Jaws? Gods Must Be Crazy? Wow. Heard the greatest song you’ re ever gonna hear? Last Waltz? Enter Sandman? American Trilogy? Cool. Had the highest cherry high? That joint in the cemetery. First line on the night of your premiere. The mushies at Splashy. Awesome. And then there was that stolen dirty weekend in Kommetjie, where you met your soulmate and had the fuck of the century. And it ended in a blissful snow-white wedding. Yeee-ha! Fab. Now what? What do you do for Act 2? Act 3? The Encore. The follow up. The sequel. How do you negotiate The Hours... and the minutes and seconds and nanoseconds in between? Stamp collecting? Gardening? Sunset walks in Melkbos? Fuck that! Curl up with a good book? I would if I had a fireplace, a rocker and a good book. But, of the three, the good book is the toughest to find these days. Unless you go for the droll that they’ re passing off for fiction lately. Reminds me of that line in Educating Rita... when Dr Bryant( Michael Caine) told Rita;“ Devouring pulp fiction is not being well-read. You have to be selective.”
Even if you had the talent, any point to writing a“ Classic” of real“ substance” these days? It’ s become a niche audience. You’ re up against what the masses, the mindless mob want. And what they want is reboot franchises, Twilight, Shades of Grey, Dan Brown... and Apple Apps.
The world of publishing today is, like the film industry; a hall where bandits and whores run free, while good men die like dogs. A literary purgatory where Dan Brown, JK Rowling and EL James go to the top of the charts while Herman Melville dies in abject poverty and only gets discovered 50 years later.
The only serious avid readers left today are people born before the digital revolution. You think it’ s a coincidence that we rarely see great cinematic gems but we’ re
by ANONYMOUS
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