The art of reading and writing, a further complication. Alejandra was reading about the art of reading and writing, so that has been the World Book Day and Book Fair opened in Buenos Aires, several political speeches and a debate was opened on kirchnerismo intolerance towards those who think differently from a letter of Horacio González, director of the National Library, following Vargas Llosa, liberal and critic today populist government that believes. That letter asked the displacement of Nobel's keynote address at the show and suggested its replacement by an Argentine writer. Fortunately Cristina Kirchner discovered the blunder on time, he could correct and there was no such censorship, but we agree that the input was. Same
debate was installed and running around without anyone turning to agree with anyone. Those who think one thing still believe in that thing and those who think otherwise are like thinking about something else, so that when the speech is issued who says one thing, is applauded by those who think this thing is the truth and when discourse it is up to others who think differently are noisy, or will, or clapping and little because the truth was told.
What a shame to be divided up in this.
But so it goes.
I thought while reading to each other and how far I was all, like light years away from such abstract intellectualism. Not wanting to go to the fair, the last time I was broke financially. Books are expensive. Economic issues are unreadable. And then I got addicted to a place used, I buy books in perfect condition and half the price. I am a rat library and so happy that I say.
was reading about the art of reading and writing and I got distracted with all the paraphernalia that surrounds the show. How sophisticated do something so simple? It's easy, here's how: something really big, heavy, expensive, with many attractions that the lost if you you feel a marginal and if you go, you go out in bankruptcy. Perhaps they do so for the book to reach non-traditional readers, sell more, to read more, to make it more attractive to read. Sure it's because of this and many other things to know, but alas!, Or inclination to go through all that. Hours to find what you want if you want something, hours queuing to enter a room and listen to a writer, hours lost in the labyrinths of colors you indicate where you have to go, what to read, what to eat, what to hear, hours huddled like cattle.
Paso.
I made an outlaw, I know.
I'm tired of the circus, the consumerist caretaje more intellectual bun you want to. What can I do, I got bored.
Reading about the art of reading and writing, thinking in parallel with all this complaining, I love writing. In fact I'm writing an abomination, the number 2 on the writing and the woman, who already has some 120 pages and just go down the middle. I can not imagine when finished and have to correct myself this tome. It matters little what interests me is to write, but never come up here, but nobody wants to publish it for snafu, although moth-eaten as the monster dies 1. Still not registered, so you sleep the sleep of the left in the pile of papers on my desk. I wonder what I write, why not dedicate myself to read and now. If I'm reading very good, better, infinitely better read what I write. That I said Borges, who wrote great, imagine how to read! But I tell you that I am a louse risen, is one of my little personal pride to be a good reader. I love to read. It is a necessity such as food, but when I'm reading more pretentious that lunchtime, a thousand times more vueltera. And I love those rodeos on the books. I open them, read back, forward, to the environment. When nobody's watching me I smell. I stay at the cover art for a while, then step on the difficult task of what all I'm taking that step and each other, to see what turns me on more. Sometimes I get rid of one, sometimes I buy several at a time and for a long time did not pass by the site used.
I'm thinking that I have to go, but I have yet much to read. I do not have time. Here beside me I have eight books written by women or biographies of writers, who help me to strengthen my monster 2. So I have homework, but now I read, I reread.
And writing. Dedicate
the art of writing (oh, what does this sound grandielocuente) eye to devote himself to writing is not the same as making art with what one writes. That is a thing of the greats. Nothing else I write because I love the art. Many times after reading what I write I say, "do not write more" baby dedicate to something else "and over everything. And I'm going away and walk around stumbling or doing things to tun tun thinking that I wrote, that if I say this other way is more clear, or it may be good news! That was what was missing from the fragment to that looked ... And as I was heartbroken, I feel that makes me body and soul I open Word and start to type frantically and ended haggard, tired, broken back, asleep hand, shoulder, turned to stone. Ah, but I could write that I was knock down inside. And when I can not and I can not and I can not and all is said and written a hundred times better than I could have done it, go and read. The book goes through me, but me and him. Is the book that I have and let go at will.
Sometimes I think I've complicated this life to love deeply with reading and writing, everything would be simpler if I devote so many other things for which I am apparently good, but know? None of it wakes me this passion, nor the fire that burns just like when I read or write.
