sept 18 in idea barrages

At its best, writing can be generative meditation, a meditative state that produces work while refocusing your mind. It can be a waking dream, the same defragmentation REM state creates. Most of the time, though, we’re just slamming pasta at fridge doors to see if it’s cooked.

We desire pleasure but we don’t want to look too pleased. We need comfort but fear seeming comfortable. We desperately require help but are terrified of coming off as needing help. This is Horatio Alger’s scam, the Protestant Work Ethic’s big lie, it is America’s tragic epitaph.

sung ala That’s Amore “when a thought’s found to lack, based in theory not fact, a priori, when you’re left proper room, to just blindly assume, a priori”

You know what we need somehow? THE DIE-HARD HOLIDAY SPECIAL, so people will shut up about calling Die Hard a Christmas movie. Have you seen the direct-to-stream trash Willis has been taking money for lately? Back a truck full of cash up to his house, he’ll do it.

Is Ed Sheeran the James Corden of soft-rock or is James Corden the Ed Sheeran of soft-comedy? Which would be worse? How could something be worse than either?

Take one of them limp little side salads. Dump a 20-piece chickey-nuggies on top. Pour all the sweet and sour packs on top of that. Congratulations, you have created Chicken Salad Occidental. Sing it with me, “chick-en, sal-ad, OCC-i-dent-al, chick-en, sal-ad, OCC-i-dent-al.”

September First, when all the Billies Joe Armstrong go into their month-long hibernation, to recharge their ability to write tepid ballads for use in the montage sequences of mediocre television shows.

A novel where a chef sells their soul to the devil in exchange for culinary excellence called “From Scratch”.