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Chris Pash | Journalism, Narrative Nonfiction, Writing and Cliche of the Week | Page 2

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Cliche of the Week 122 – Brute Force. Brute force, where overwhelming numbers are used to roll a smaller opposition on a battlefield or in a political debate, is at best a short-term solution. It is also an easy option to use “brute force” in news reports, with the phrase appearing in mainstream media more than 300 times a month or twice that if web news is included. Chris Pash’s book, The Last Whale. A true story set in the 1970s about Australia’s last whaling station and the activists who fought to clo...

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Name-Ism: April 2010

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Saturday, April 17, 2010. Observations of Paint - Lost his left hand. Lost his left hand in a childhood accident playing with gunpowder. Part 1 – the Coming of Quetzalcoatl. Long wall west wing ). The nomads skin has many colours. Almost wholly in browns. Her belly, breasts and lips at the front are blue. Aggressive, successive waves move, motivated by the promised land. These are the human impulses to change and progress. The willing mob in grey rushes forth with those who follow and those who fall.

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Name-Ism: December 2008

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Thursday, December 4, 2008. Vacana of between xiv. I real ly want. Jeg oensker meg over alt. Saa jeg kan si hoere. Without it looking like I'm saying. Eller erre esse , else. Vocal cord is unplugged. Now rusty - i call it rustic. Men det er egentlig bare rusta. Med tenner av flerra flak. Som jeg lapper sammen. Holder sammen, holding the sami. Reindeer I saw in a movie. Veiviseren - clear in my mind. Er ikke sikker men det maler et. True as the history we paint. As the world we create. But most of all.

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Name-Ism: Observations of Paint - Lost his left hand

http://nameism.blogspot.com/2010/04/observations-of-paint-lost-his-left.html

Saturday, April 17, 2010. Observations of Paint - Lost his left hand. Lost his left hand in a childhood accident playing with gunpowder. Part 1 – the Coming of Quetzalcoatl. Long wall west wing ). The nomads skin has many colours. Almost wholly in browns. Her belly, breasts and lips at the front are blue. Aggressive, successive waves move, motivated by the promised land. These are the human impulses to change and progress. The willing mob in grey rushes forth with those who follow and those who fall.

nameism.blogspot.com

Name-Ism: November 2008

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Sunday, November 30, 2008. The anti of the matter. The anti of the matter. It wants to reconnect the nodes, I want to keep them severed; they have other junctions now that weave into beds and bridges and fine fabric. ). I fear eye not seeing me. Hiding from the eye; I see; I cry; toobe y seen by the eye . He does not see me? Did I see him? I refer to It. It does not speak. Make sounds or words. Yet It filters its expressions through. It is Lingua the lord ;. Creation out of no. Purpose - - - . no -.

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Name-Ism: June 2008

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Monday, June 30, 2008. Name-ism; on complexity and demands for explanations. Name-ism ; on complexity and demands for explanations;. They carved a maze into the mountain. With locked fence posts blocking the right path. Smeared with wax seals of gilded writing of codes. And conventions that drains the climbing text of its own persona. Into a drone outdated by the time it reaches the peak. Where the pied cow kicks him off the preaching ledge. To find that personae again, anima crippled, finds personae.

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Cliche of the Week 121 – Gone Ballistic | Chris Pash

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Cliche of the Week 121 – Gone Ballistic. March 3, 2013 at 1:50 pm. The incidence of cliches, those tired phrases that flow too easily when writing a news story, is steady and not quite ballistic. Similarly, the use of ‘gone ballistic’ isn’t that common worldwide but it’s a regular, with about 20 appearances a month. The sport (stand-up paddling) has gone ballistic across inland USA on rivers and lakes.” (Sunshine Coast Daily, January 11). Cliché of the Week appears in The Australian. A true story set in ...

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Name-Ism: March 2010

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Monday, March 29, 2010. Than wood and sitting down. Is more expensive than eating. We stand by the polished. Feet on the roof a Roman city. A sand filled city of a brutal past. There are voices that pushes the sand. Through the glass-blown hole of our time. These voices push us long after they’re dead. Instead of resting , instead of fading. They spend eternity having coffee in Firenze. Outside detailed statues and polished stone. Remnants of higher thoughts. Where they should be. In his little fountain.

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Name-Ism: December 2009

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Wednesday, December 16, 2009. Vacana of Between XIX. Det er en jetlag morgen og mørket. Er vakkert lover meg at laputas teppe. Skal avsløres vi dukker gjennom. Den røde rammen av gull slottet. Inn i det grå teppet. Og finner en meditativ stillhet. Hjemlandet glistner i frostpusten. Som bet av meg fingre og albuet meg. I lungene forrige gang. 3 spiral trapper siden. Hun er ved min side nå afrodite. Sofias nye geometri er tegnet i hennes øyne. Og jeg er dets refleksjon. Som skinner gjennom her under. But t...