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The fossilization of memory. Sounds too scientific, too pedagogic. Very much like the notes I used to write in Zoology, only in a sentimental context. Note that this blog is a hole in my failing consciousness. Should you leave this blog wondering about things, e-mail me at utakgago [at] gmail [dot] com for questions, job offers, and for-the-lack-of-a-breather e-mails. Subscribe via RSS.

All farce

When writers talk about post-modernism or nihilism, I can’t help but stare at the ceiling.

I think a writer makes sense if he imparts some sort of his personal ideology in his works. Writing short stories in a whim isn’t exactly something pretty, is it? Does a story has to have some Neo-classical thing about it? What is Neo-Classical, anyway? Structuralist? Social Constructivist? Post-Modernism? Feminism? Marxism? Nihilism?

Where in the world can I learn the lingo?

I only speak of life without breathing a certain genre of thought. I only distract the stagnant, but it doesn’t imply any sense other than distraction itself. Farce on a turkey. All ground forcemeat. The grandeur of wordplay without any tinge of philosophy, or of a certain ideology.

July 11, 2009 at 2:02 am, filed under Life at UPLB, Stress ball narratives. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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