"My task which I am trying to achieve is, by the power of the written word, to make you hear, to make you feel--it is, above all, to make you see." -- Joseph Conrad (1897)
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Bjork: The Hunter
Go all the way down to the bottom of the page that is linked:
i like your writing style, its original and diverse, like my own.
gold-stark! ebullience! how animated is this desert! how flowing with activity, ambition and hope! the highway i travel upon is active, vigorous, busy. i envelope myself amid its rainbow. i never thought the desert would be so green, so yellow! i never thought to imagine how elevated the sky would arise in beauto-blithe! i never predicted the clouds would irradiate such majestica! nor did i foresee the splendora thrillèndo of the bulge-mountains! in the east the mountains form a large chain endlèssan, vast, but here the mountains are isolated, singular, gently curved and i sing amid their texture and color! and how abandoned is the wilderness! in the east where population density abounds, every corner is claimed, each plot is private. one walks across a forest never knowing when or from whence the owner will arise and command you to exit his holdings, threats accompanying his words. but here (flames! songs!) one can wander amid these barren hills wholly free from the intruder and the iron stranger! one can sing amid these mountains fearless of the property owner and rage-anger!
1 comment:
i like your writing style, its original and diverse, like my own.
gold-stark! ebullience! how animated is this desert! how flowing with activity, ambition and hope! the highway i travel upon is active, vigorous, busy. i envelope myself amid its rainbow. i never thought the desert would be so green, so yellow! i never thought to imagine how elevated the sky would arise in beauto-blithe! i never predicted the clouds would irradiate such majestica! nor did i foresee the splendora thrillèndo of the bulge-mountains! in the east the mountains form a large chain endlèssan, vast, but here the mountains are isolated, singular, gently curved and i sing amid their texture and color! and how abandoned is the wilderness! in the east where population density abounds, every corner is claimed, each plot is private. one walks across a forest never knowing when or from whence the owner will arise and command you to exit his holdings, threats accompanying his words. but here (flames! songs!) one can wander amid these barren hills wholly free from the intruder and the iron stranger! one can sing amid these mountains fearless of the property owner and rage-anger!
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