Why I didn't want to find his love letters in my copy of East of Eden

created by junkpile

(idea) by junkpile (2.9 y) (print) ? (I like it!) 6 C!s Tue Jul 18 2000 at 19:40:59

Because I never fucking understood East of Eden. These beautiful educated people sit around and smoke and talk about East of Eden and Tropic of Cancer and every other damn thing I don't get and I don't have anything to say. I sit there and worry about my face and how I am sitting because if I can't contribute to the discussion I hope I at least look ok. Last night I dreamed my old lit professor called on me in class and I had a mildly insightful comment about whatever we were reading and he was impressed enough to end the class on that note. I woke up angry that he'd been so easily impressed.

Love letter, East of Eden. I read these pages and think, there is something eluding me and it is like a fucking tiger in the living room but I am still not getting it. Why? I know what all the words mean. This is not David Foster Wallace, I don't need a dictionary or a map, it's subject verb subject verb. I never got Hemingway and all his vocabulary is straight off any fourth-grader's spelling list.

Love letter, East of Eden. It was never really about me. I can read the words all day and it will be like how it is when I use chopsticks. Maybe I will manage to get a few bits into my mouth. But probably not.

printable version
chaos

I never ventured in the woods and got drunk and slept	East of Eden	Tell people they're beautiful and you will change the world	People's 50 Most Beautiful People is a crock of shit
It looks like you are writing a letter	She threw out all my letters	Tropic of Cancer	David Foster Wallace
Left with his secrets, his picture and silence	The "How many partners have you had" question	The twist of Kafka's hand	love letter
I got peanut butter on my ninja pants	Everything Arranged Marriage Registry	Brainy people make the best friends	Letter to the mother of a dead friend
Kafka's Frustration with his Inherited Language	Fate is not twisted, it is tied in a knot	He brings me books like flowers	I hate you. Please don't leave me.
I have never been sure that you knew quite how much I loved you	Here were the words I was waiting for, without the part I wanted	Nobody writes poetry about science	When I too long have looked upon your face,

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