On Youth

"Fucking youth, he said. Goddamn fucking youth."

— Roberto Bolaño | 2666, The Part About Archimboldi

Literature, Masterpieces & Minor Work.

"I was a writer, I was a writer, but my indolent, voracious brain gnawed at my own entrails. Vulture of my Prometheus self or Prometheus of my vulture self, one day I understood that I might go so far as to publish excellent articles in magazines and newspapers, and even books that weren’t unworthy of the paper on which they were printed. But I also understood that I would never manage to create anything like a masterpiece. You may say that literature doesn’t consist solely of masterpieces, but rather is populated by so-called minor works. I believed that, too. Literature is a vast forest and the masterpieces are the lakes, the towering trees or strange trees, the lovely, eloquent flowers, the hidden caves, but a forest is also made up of ordinary trees, patches of grass, puddles, clinging vines, mushrooms, and little wild-flowers. I was wrong. There’s actually no such thing as a minor work."

— Roberto Bolaño | 2666, The Part About Archimboldi

Good Evening, Sputnik Sweetheart

And so I held up Sputnik Sweetheart up against the sunset just before the thunderstorm. 

I guess this is what nostalgia looks like.

Rhinoceros

A doodle I made during one of my french drama classes. 

An interpretation of Eugene Ionesco's Rhinoceros.