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Rearranging furniture | Meditations on the Death of the Mouse

https://djxllc.wordpress.com/2010/04/18/rearranging-furniture-on-the-deck-of-the-titanic

Meditations on the Death of the Mouse. A Technology Sea Change. Books/Authors I’m thinking about while mediating on the death of the mouse. Books/Authors I’m thinking about while mediating on the death of the mouse. A chicken in every pot, a car in every garage, a hologram in every living room. Apple, Market Laggard. Enemy of the future. A chain letter needs a good supply of idiots. Each unhappy strategy is unhappy in its own way. A room of one’s own–satisfaction. The incompetence of everyone else. NYT 4...

arieldreyer.wordpress.com

Rock City | Cartoons on Porcelain

https://arieldreyer.wordpress.com/2012/12/18/rock-city-2

Scraps of fiction, and of truth. December 18, 2012. When we left and went off to school or Boston or New York or anywhere but here, people would ask, like people always do, Where are you from? We would hesitate before saying Cape Cod, because the reaction was always the same: Oh, that must have been a nice place to grow up. And it was. Not because it was beautiful, not because of the beaches, but because it housed our childhood, all its moments. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here.

deathofthemouse.com

Rearranging furniture | Meditations on the Death of the Mouse

https://deathofthemouse.com/2010/04/18/rearranging-furniture-on-the-deck-of-the-titanic

Meditations on the Death of the Mouse. A Technology Sea Change. Books/Authors I’m thinking about while mediating on the death of the mouse. Books/Authors I’m thinking about while mediating on the death of the mouse. A chicken in every pot, a car in every garage, a hologram in every living room. Apple, Market Laggard. Enemy of the future. A chain letter needs a good supply of idiots. Each unhappy strategy is unhappy in its own way. A room of one’s own–satisfaction. The incompetence of everyone else. NYT 4...

arieldreyer.wordpress.com

Cartoons on Porcelain | scraps of fiction, and of truth | Page 2

https://arieldreyer.wordpress.com/page/2

Scraps of fiction, and of truth. March 6, 2010. I keep trying to find a pulse, a beat, a rhythm. I think I hear it, faintly. But I can’t move with it yet. I need to empty myself out and, at the same time, remember who I was five years ago, when I chased the sounds to the ends of the earth and thumped it out right every time. You know what I mean, you more than anyone. A Piece of Fiction. June 9, 2009. I’ve regained my ability to write fiction. Here’s how you do it: you lie about the truth. My windows are...

arieldreyer.wordpress.com

The Chase | Cartoons on Porcelain

https://arieldreyer.wordpress.com/2010/09/10/the-chase

Scraps of fiction, and of truth. September 10, 2010. The hitch usually comes when I’ve exhausted myself. It must be a certain state of insanity that turns me into a whirlwind. You keep your hands at the keyboard in case they want to put more words together. You take your cues, you watch for signs, you hold your breath. You try not to get your hopes up. God of Moving Parts. On Learning to See. One thought on “ The Chase. Literarily speaking, that is. December 11, 2009 at 10:30 pm. Enter your comment here.

arieldreyer.wordpress.com

look | Cartoons on Porcelain

https://arieldreyer.wordpress.com/2012/09/17/look

Scraps of fiction, and of truth. September 17, 2012. Reading of “Entropy”. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Email (Address never made public). You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Google account. ( Log Out. Notify me of new comments via email.

arieldreyer.wordpress.com

God of Moving Parts | Cartoons on Porcelain

https://arieldreyer.wordpress.com/2010/09/11/god-of-moving-parts

Scraps of fiction, and of truth. God of Moving Parts. September 11, 2010. You triumph this one moment, this tiny piece of eternity, or what a Zen Buddhist would call Eternity. You call it a syncopation of stars, an elephant on the train tracks of your brain. But is this moment of enlightenment (as some may call it) some misfiring in your very human, very animal brain? And so what if it is? Would that fact, that crude, biological fact, de-value what feels like a cosmological awakening? You are commenting ...