(Source: arribalamano, via idi0pathic)
“Two weeks ago my mountain of mail delivered forth a pipsqueak mouse of a letter from a well-known publishing house that wanted to reprint my story “The Fog Horn” in a high school reader.
In my story, I had described in a lighthouse as having, late a night, an illumination coming from it that was a “God-Light.” Looking up at it from the viewpoint of any sea-creature one would have felt that one was in “the Presence.”
The editors had deleted “God-Light” and “in the Presence”.
Some five years back, the editors of yet another anthology for school teachers put together a volume with some 400 (count ‘em) short stories in it. How do you cram 400 short stories by Twain, Irving, Poe, Maupassant and Bierce into one book?
Simplicity itself. Skin, debone, demarrow, scarify, melt, render down and destroy. Every adjective that counted, every verb that moved, every metaphor that weighed more than a mosquito - out! Every simile that would have made a sub-moron’s mouth twitch - gone! Any aside that explained the two-bit philosophy of a first-rate writer - lost!Every story, slenderized, starved, bluepenciled, leeched and bled white, resembled every other story. Twain read like Poe read like Shakespeare read like Dostoevsky read like - in the finale - Edgar Guest. Every word more than three syllables had been razored. Every image that demanded so much as one instant’s attention - shot dead.
Do you begin to get the damned and incredible picture?
How did I react to all of the above?
By “firing” the whole lot.
By sending rejection slips to each and every one.
By ticketing the assembly of idiots to the far reaches of hell.
The point is obvious. There is more than one way to burn a book. And the world is full of people running around with lit matches. Every minority, be it Baptist/Unitarian, Irish/Italian/Octogenarian/Zen Buddist, Zionist/Seventh-Day Adventist, Women’s Lib/Republican, Mattachine/FourSquareGospel feels it has the will, the right, the duty to douse the kerosene, light the fuse. Every dimwit editor who sees himself as the source of all dreary blanc-mange plain porridge unleavened literature, licks his guillotine and eye the neck of any author who dares to speak above a whisper or write above a nursery rhyme.
Fire Captain Beatty, in my novel “Fahrenheit 451”, described how the books were burned first by minorities, each ripping a page or paragraph from this book, then that, until the day came when the books were empty and the minds shut and the libraries closed forever.”
~ Ray Bradbury, coda of “Fahrenheit 451”
5
Wow, give this a readholy shit this is actually insane
the actual fuck?
This is the most confusing, yet correct, murder/suicide story I have ever read. Pre-planned coïncidences, and actual coïncidences, leading to such a weird turn of events. What.
omg thats intense
wat. it’s like a suicide but through 4 people but like woah. Read it. seriously.
Oh my god…. This is so …. woah….
I don’t even…
That’s crazy.
(Source: fapcats, via fuckyeahsexanddrugs)
(Source: icanneverbewhatyouneed, via notthatfrench)
Coeurs A Corps Perdu
Daphne Groeneveld by Mert Alas and Marcus Piggot
(Source: vitreo, via thewomanwiththetattooedhands)
