“Half the time I write to find out what I think” (Tim Winton)
Stumbled across on the day
Bob Dylan got the Nobel Prize
What a terrible joke
Not that Tim Winton should have won either
But at least he’s an Australian writer I don’t know
So what do I think about it all?
I don’t know
I write without thinking
I don’t write when I think
When I talk to myself
Freudian tripartite, id, ego, superego
OMHS (oh my holy spirit), a Christian faux-pas
Ménage à trois
What am I thinking?
Words merge into phrases and green Chomsky trees
Random associations in Latin
Cogito ergo sum
Cogito ergo scribo
Chinese cat sits on my lap
Not thinking just purring
Half of the time I read what I write for free
For cat and me
And you and nobody else
NB once met Bob in Kathmandu
He kept looking in the mirror to see what he could see
Sure he wrote two or three good songs when he was still innocent
And to his credit did a cover of The Universal Soldier
A long time ago, and to no avail (drone soldiers keep a-killing)
And now Bob’s an old cowboy celebrity
Getting prizes for neither thinking nor writing
Selling his soul to American gods and empire, OMG
Like Rod Stewart, OBE, to William the Queen
There ain’t no fool like an old pop star
BTW that’s what I think about literature
Quoting Sartre when he refused the Nobel Prize
"A writer should not allow himself to be turned into an institution"
Would an equally discerning Arundhati Roy say ‘herself’ the same?
But then again, who I am I to think so when half the time I write?