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Notes From A Rooom

Notes From A Rooom

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Recent Posts Tagged With 'kitsch'

  • Endings and beginnings

    Posted on Wednesday July 22nd, 2009 at 13:25 in writing, kitsch, x

    We have endings, X tells me, that much is clear, everything ends all the time, in fact his life seems like one long ending. But to end you have to begin, he says, there are no ends without beginnings. Thus we begin as often as we end, and end as we b...

  • A forest of kitsch

    Posted on Monday July 20th, 2009 at 05:43 in writing, kitsch, x

    Talking to you is like moving through a forest, X tells me, like the one that grew next to our house, the one I grew up in and played in. Except I knew then I’d be able to get back home no matter where I went, but now I don’t, now I come out wher...

  • Needy

    Posted on Friday July 17th, 2009 at 01:32 in writing, kitsch, x

    X tells me he’s finally found the truth about himself. He’s needy, he says, that’s the basic truth, isn’t it? He needs the sound of my voice, he says, he needs me to tell him something kitschy and comforting. He’s like that teenager who...

  • A blessing

    Posted on Thursday July 16th, 2009 at 11:08 in writing, kitsch, x

    I’m right, X tells me, how could he have said all that to me, what drove him to say all those pompous, absurd things? Where does this need for puffed-up declarations and personal kitsch come from, and how can he excuse it? he asks. He can’t, he s...

  • X’s kitsch

    Posted on Monday June 29th, 2009 at 04:06 in writing, kitsch, x

    How can he get rid of his kitsch, X asks me, who should he turn to, since I won’t help him? Maybe he could turn to the English, he says, to learn to repress his feelings. Or maybe he should start reading political philosophy and learn to be mor...

  • Death, silence and all that

    Posted on Wednesday June 3rd, 2009 at 09:50 in writing, kitsch, x

    He’s afraid of silence, X tells me. He dreads it, actually. Pascal’s infinite spaces, the silence of the stars, all that. He loses sleep over it, he says, imagine, he actually loses sleep. He’s afraid of sleep’s little abyss of silence, he sa...