I Have Learned in College

I have learned in college. Let me tell you a story. Formula, formulae, formulaic, formulated, formulation. Narrative structure, authorial intent, demonstration, complication, get to the text, get to the text, get to the text.
Fin.
Sound is vibration not thought. Everything we say from “good morning” to “move over you’re hogging the blanket” etc. This isn’t the way to start a book. This isn’t how it ought to be done.
Susan was a slim girl with yellow teeth. She hated the smell of onion rings. She loved Bob Dylan and rum.
Why should we care about Susan? I’ll tell you why. She is a very interesting case. By means of her we will finally discover the mysterious thought processes of a generation, or at least we’ll get a kick. Exalt! Why should we read, is there any such thing as art? Who is worthwhile, how am I so small? Etc.
One day I was walking and I saw a chipmunk. He was little and courageous. He ran under a bush.
Let me tell you a lie. I have not slept in fourteen years. Let me tell you a truth. I hate artichoke hearts, I wish a frost would kill all the artichoke hearts, I wish artichoke hearts had never been invented.
Show don’t tell don’t tell show don’t tell. I should have been a painter. Words have value. Words are representations. We think in terms of words. Thoughts are representations. Representation is not equal to truth. Truth doesn’t exist, or I don’t exist, or words are meaningless. We’ll have to choose. Or maybe the choosing has already been done. I am young and I do not know.
If you are still reading this, turn me over. I do not hate books. I do not hate stories. I do not hate this.
Let me tell you more about Susan. Susan was not beautiful or special like other protagonists. She really didn’t stand out from the crowd at all. She was pretty average and liked pretty average things [since averages are useless supply your own definition here]. What happened to Susan? Well she died like we all do I guess. Rumination on mortality is morbid, out of date, psychotic, immature. Let us go then you and I. Patient. Patience. Michelangelo. Etc.
The beat poets were dope fiends and mostly were not good. For this reason I was well into my forties before I realized Allen Ginsberg was a poet.
The chipmunk did not come out from the bush again that I saw, but I was in a hurry and did not wait.
This is trite: My heart is broken, my heart aches, my eyes are full of tears.
This is not trite:
Terrorism, 9/11, advertisements, media, global warming, big business, wall street, depression, animal cruelty, social networking, tobacco ban, right to choose, and any other thing that a serious story of today should include.
How does language die? Ad Nauseum Did you think I was serious?

What We Still Need

Pepper spray, compass, containers for water (plastic quart, canteen), tennis shoes, flashlight, batteries, sleeping pad, water filter tablets