Tralfamadore. And Firewhiskey.

I am the Mayor of Slackertown when it comes to this blog. Mostly because I lack direction, such that I find myself thinking "should I blog about the hilarious number of times Harry gets tipsy in the course of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows? Or race in the Americas? or the superiority of Barry's Tea?"

But I have been inspired by Lau's blog which remains boldly topicless and full of wit n' grit...so I shall trek on. Here's some thoughts on my....artistic vision.

Mostly I have been thinking it would be a good idea to make a cut-out-paper animation of Slaughterhouse Five. In something like this style:

The most important thing I learned on Tralfamadore was that when a person dies he only appears to die. He is still very much alive in the past, so it is very silly for people to cry at his funeral. All moments, past, present and future, always have existed, always will exist. The Tralfamadorians can look at all the different moments just that way we can look at a stretch of the Rocky Mountains, for instance. They can see how permanent all the moments are, and they can look at any moment that interests them. It is just an illusion we have here on Earth that one moment follows another one, like beads on a string, and that once a moment is gone it is gone forever.
When a Tralfamadorian sees a corpse, all he thinks is that the dead person is in bad condition in the particular moment, but that the same person is just fine in plenty of other moments. Now, when I myself hear that somebody is dead, I simply shrug and say what the Tralfamadorians say about dead people, which is "So it goes."

I had a dream about the whole thing that was just superrrb.

In other news, I did not get into the Brown MFA. [Cue WOMP.] I am hoping that this failure will give me a certain ennui that will contribute to my writing, much like Harry Potter's parent's deaths allowed him to bellow "YOU KILLED MY PARENTS" at climactic moments and thus lend a real dramatic edge to his adventures.

Speaking of artists, here are some pictures of my mother's hippie commune. Apparently they put on these fantastic plays featuring costumes like:



My mother played Titania (she's far away, in the greenish dress):



and apparently also dressed like Rosie the Riveter:





One of my TFs introduced herself by first saying the name of her great-grandmother, grandmother and mother. I think for me too that would be one of the realest ways to talk about who I am.

Love love,
me