Ugh. Kids.
Million Hoodie March for Trayvon Martin. Union Square NYC. March 21, 2012
Photo by J. Quazi King
http://quazimottoonwax.tumblr.com/
-Please do not REMOVE credits when rebloggin, THANKS!
— Dylan Moran, ‘Yeah Yeah’, 2011 (via hellicopter)
(via annlarimer)
(Source: telegramsfromdownton)
“In the last thirty or forty years, the writer has become someone who works on a well-defined career track, like any other middle class professional, not, however, to become a craftsman serving the community, but to project an image of himself (partly through his writings, but also in dozens of other ways) as an artist who embodies the direction in which culture is headed. In short, the next big new thing. A Rushdie. A Pamuk. It’s rather as if the spontaneous Romanticism of the nineteenth-century poets had become a job description; we know what a romantic is (his politics, his behavior patterns), we know that is the way to literary greatness, so let’s do it.”—
The Writer’s Job by Tim Parks | The New York Review of Books
Is this essay as important to everyone else as it feels to me?
In a word, YES.
“Not gonna ask about Steely Dan.”
“A lot of Steely Dan songs transpire on historic Brooklyn docks, probably.”
“If that’s the case I quit grad school.”
“You can’t go to grad school without being somehow implicit in Steely Dan.”