And the days flew by like I was riding some gigantic digital wave, punctuated by Autocorrect so that I could focus more on the subject matter and not just the matter of the subject. I touched the glass of this new invention and realized it’s been a while since I have read an actual novel in paper-flesh. This got me thinking as well, especially when I picked up my monthly copy of Esquire and flipped through to find a short story that smelled exactly like something I could’ve written in a quiet afternoon, if I ever had any of those.
It was a simple realization that what they’ve got that I don’t have is time and what they don’t have that I have is a tendency to question everything artistic in order achieve pure perfection. The goal of perfection is not necessarily meant to be achieved, and like life we go on living even though we know eventually that we’ll die. But, if we can have some sort of satisfaction along the way, we can share a bit of happiness for just a while and produce something that leaves us (or me, rather) with a bout of satisfaction until the next wave settles down.
I’m not complaining at all, but merely attempting to contemplate the tides.
Blah, I accidently posted that comment too soon. “Bank” is a good book and I’d recommend it. It’s not the greatest piece of literature of all time, but it’s written by someone of our day and age so it’s easily relatable and it shows how a guy with very little time on his hand can still produce a great book.