For a long time I’ve resented my inability to remember, ie. if I do not take notes, my life does not exist — but I understand simply now, thanks to Hass, that this is a gift too: that one is able to pass their world through the “cloud chamber” of language, such that it emerges on the other side “charged with desire”.
That is to say: the note-taking is not a substitute for memory. The note-taking is an act of transformation. More than life itself, it is the singular thing that ties me, us, you & I, to our compulsion to live.
Our desires are distinct because we name them.
The writer must be four people:
- The nut, the obsédé
- The moron
- The stylist
- The critic
1 supplies the material; 2 lets it come out; 3 is taste; 4 is intelligence.
A great writer has all 4 — but you can still be a good writer with only 1 and 2; they’re most important.
— Susan Sontag (1961)
From an online inspirational quote generator, slightly re-worded:
With the self-annihilation that sentimentalism brings, you cannot find eroticism.
The sentimental feels deceptive but the erotic feels honest.
Sentimentalism as self-erasure, etc.
I wrote a long thread on this yesterday but I'm too lazy to move it over.
Pretty feelings are uninteresting not because they are uncreative but primarily because they are dishonest.
I want slowness only enough to rest, not to idle. The difference between the two is dignity, self-possession, the needle of my sanity pointing the way.