I guess as a writer, who typically or should stay at home to write and read without distraction, but does so to be among the living, I love this place, where they also have salads. They may have a branch in WC, where I have heard music and poetry read.
What if you were sitting there and I thought you interesting? You seem substantial and intelligent. How else would I ever get to know you? How would we ever actually meet? Don’t we need such a neutral zone for our first date? Anyway, I am intrigued by this. I would love to see where you have your coffee and what kind you like.
As my title says, I am a cafe writer. In responding to me, are you giving me a chance to redeem myself?
I do see the word “sarcasm” in your repertoire. I always wonder about this in psychological terms. Inherently, it means to insult. All the pretty girls in grade school, who were dating other boys used it. It stems from intelligence and confidence. They were always that. My father died when I was 10, I guess I was sarcastic before that. So, when a woman is sarcastic with me, it triggers a kind of sadness, in memory of a free and easy time. I got everything I wanted. My father was a successful urologist, my mother a commercial artist and fashion model.
She “smoked regularly,” which seems not to have ever bothered her. She remains in a nursing home with Alzheimer’s.
I would love to know your artistic side, the painting perhaps?
I have never read The Greenage Summer, the title seems intriguing. When was the green age?
I either read and watched The Scarlet Letter or just watched it. Wasn’t it with a brunette actress as the woman who wanted to cheat with him. I can’t remember her name, but the storyline seems to follow less hopefully The Notebook, which of course is not truly hopeful either. The heart follows no rules but does feel them.
Twin Peaks and all Lynch’s movies are especially important to me as an artist. He makes me think about the importance of culture and the complexity of life.
I would like to listen to Sublime with you.
Beef jerky and cheese? That sounds like a logistical nightmare.
I am currently reading William Gass’ book On Being Blue in reference to your favorite color. I bought it because I opened it and the first words I read were: “What a page before was a woman is suddenly a breast, and then a nipple, then a little ring of risen flesh, a pacifier, water bottle, rubber cushion. Without plan or purpose we slide from substance to sensation, fact to feeling, all out becomes in, and we hear only exclamations of suspicious satisfaction: the ums, the ohs, the aha,” p. 17. He is talking about how talking about sex has to be about something else, because to speak of it exactly is to diminish what is arousing. Then he cites Henry Miller, who writes in such a way as to talk about something else entirely and yet it is really all about sex and how we feel and think, I guess because given our puritanical upbringing, that’s the only way we can enjoy it. It reminds me of another book by Wilhelm Stekel, where he talks about fetishism: At war with inner reality, p. 21.
The citation appealed to me because I am currently working on a piece about how women are responding to men.
I have no sense of humor. I am a Man Without Qualities, which by the way is another great book by Robert Musil.
Anyway, I go on. How was your cup of coffee?