Every morning, Indians. As I wait for the bus, a coffee in my hand, Indians. Chief wears newspapers and duct tape. I’m unclear what we’ve done. Or if I’m guilty.
I'm glad you let this one out of his cage. He's an unpredictable beast of a story.
As usual, I read with admiration for the sentence structure, the imagery, the metaphor, the humor and the dead serious-message. Another thought-provoking jewel, Victor!
Your generous comments humble me, Jim. Thanks so much for reading, and I'm glad I was able to provoke some thought. That is my intention. And to have fun. All the best!
I just read this and said to the no one in my room, “I don’t want to live on this planet any more." Such despair! I actually dripped one tear. But what gets me mostly are:
The contemporary truths:
“I’m unclear what we’ve done. Or if I’m guilty.” / “We don’t say what our eyes see.” / “TV: A slop trough of lies.”
And the bizarre lines that somehow fit: "Wife puts a napkin on our cat. “Stay,” she says." / "I can count birds."
And the odd grammar: "Let’s eat a corn." / "Reporters knock the door" / "They belong punished."
You have something to say, Victor, and Sharron is listening. A mí me parece un talento tremendo.
Thanks very much Sharron. I really appreciate your reading and commenting. The bizarre lines just kinda pop out at times :) I'm glad you enjoyed the piece and hope the despair thought / tear has passed. All the best.
This is a really potent piece of writing. I like how reasonable the narrator is throughout - rational, non-commitally curious, not belligerent at all, but closed off. I'm curious about the role of the wife as guide and chastiser - what does this say about femininity, insight, and understanding violation? I don't want to suggest that women are inherently kind - far from it - but what is it that women know? I was also very struck by the simile for the immigrant's stare, "like a bell boy without a tip", when the protagonist just goes ahead clumsily, fearlessly making his enquiries, oblivious to the analytic and emotional muscle of the man under scrutiny.
I hope it's not too tedious having the spell of your writing so clunkily (and possibly inaccurately) broken down. I really admire your poetic directness - it's very compelling and I always want to see my way back to the core ideas. Thanks for sharing this.
Your breakdown is welcome and celebrated. As I say on my About page, my intention is to provoke thought, and it seems I have done that.
But beyond that, with your comment, you have provoked thought for me, too. I love comments such as yours. The raw truth is, when I write, I only open a door, go inside and see where the hallways go. I’m not thinking of interpretation. And I trust the direction. I’m not exactly in charge; more of a conduit.
People have at times told me their interpretation, and it always makes me realize that another’s interpretation is always accurate because just as we see the world differently, so we see smaller chunks of it (like a story) differently.
The core ideas are indeed hopefully visible. As for the wife, I suppose (now that you got me thinking about it), I do tend to lean toward the idea of women as wiser and more capable of compassionate thought, although like most things, it wouldn’t be universal. But in general.
Thanks so much for you wonderful comment. I really appreciate it. Victor David.
I find this absolutely true, Victor : "[When I write] I’m not thinking of interpretation. And I trust the direction. I’m not exactly in charge; more of a conduit." We put our work out there and have no control over how it will be interpreted by others. And that is as it should be. And what is more interesting, is that half the time I myself am unclear about what my message is until it is out there and I look again. Un misterio de la escritura.
I'm with you on that. We can control what we write, when we put it out there and other things like that, but we have no control over how it gets received or interpreted. There's a great article that I've read a couple of times about the dangers of attempting to do everything in the way you think the audience wants it.
Thanks for this response - the open door and hallway-following metaphor is very apt. Sometimes it's like going in all directions in the dark, with an awareness that somehow you already *know* the house.
It's funny how an essentially undidactic exercise ends up taking its only conceivable form. It's nothing short of magic.
Thanks so much, James. I appreciate your comment and hope you enjoy the book. As I mention in the afterword, I struggled and revised, and finally decided enough, time to let them go into the world. Kinda like I hesitated with this piece. Many thanks again!
I believed I was always welcome. I arrived with a thousand ships in my throat, coughed them across a continent. They skidded over mountains and prairies, discharging cities and sewage in their wake. Our culture took root and made the grass wither.
Why, thank you Mike. I gotta admit that sometimes I'm not sure about putting things out there, letting them go. But hey, I figured enough waiting :) Thanks for you lovely comment!
![Dynamic Creed [Oddified Fiction]](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_36,h_36,c_fill,f_webp,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep,g_auto/https%3A%2F%2Fbucketeer-e05bbc84-baa3-437e-9518-adb32be77984.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F0e1033d7-484e-4f07-8ca4-9f5e73fde2ba_500x500.png)
I'm glad you let this one out of his cage. He's an unpredictable beast of a story.
As usual, I read with admiration for the sentence structure, the imagery, the metaphor, the humor and the dead serious-message. Another thought-provoking jewel, Victor!
Your generous comments humble me, Jim. Thanks so much for reading, and I'm glad I was able to provoke some thought. That is my intention. And to have fun. All the best!
I just read this and said to the no one in my room, “I don’t want to live on this planet any more." Such despair! I actually dripped one tear. But what gets me mostly are:
The contemporary truths:
“I’m unclear what we’ve done. Or if I’m guilty.” / “We don’t say what our eyes see.” / “TV: A slop trough of lies.”
And the bizarre lines that somehow fit: "Wife puts a napkin on our cat. “Stay,” she says." / "I can count birds."
And the odd grammar: "Let’s eat a corn." / "Reporters knock the door" / "They belong punished."
You have something to say, Victor, and Sharron is listening. A mí me parece un talento tremendo.
Thanks very much Sharron. I really appreciate your reading and commenting. The bizarre lines just kinda pop out at times :) I'm glad you enjoyed the piece and hope the despair thought / tear has passed. All the best.
This is a really potent piece of writing. I like how reasonable the narrator is throughout - rational, non-commitally curious, not belligerent at all, but closed off. I'm curious about the role of the wife as guide and chastiser - what does this say about femininity, insight, and understanding violation? I don't want to suggest that women are inherently kind - far from it - but what is it that women know? I was also very struck by the simile for the immigrant's stare, "like a bell boy without a tip", when the protagonist just goes ahead clumsily, fearlessly making his enquiries, oblivious to the analytic and emotional muscle of the man under scrutiny.
I hope it's not too tedious having the spell of your writing so clunkily (and possibly inaccurately) broken down. I really admire your poetic directness - it's very compelling and I always want to see my way back to the core ideas. Thanks for sharing this.
Your breakdown is welcome and celebrated. As I say on my About page, my intention is to provoke thought, and it seems I have done that.
But beyond that, with your comment, you have provoked thought for me, too. I love comments such as yours. The raw truth is, when I write, I only open a door, go inside and see where the hallways go. I’m not thinking of interpretation. And I trust the direction. I’m not exactly in charge; more of a conduit.
People have at times told me their interpretation, and it always makes me realize that another’s interpretation is always accurate because just as we see the world differently, so we see smaller chunks of it (like a story) differently.
The core ideas are indeed hopefully visible. As for the wife, I suppose (now that you got me thinking about it), I do tend to lean toward the idea of women as wiser and more capable of compassionate thought, although like most things, it wouldn’t be universal. But in general.
Thanks so much for you wonderful comment. I really appreciate it. Victor David.
I find this absolutely true, Victor : "[When I write] I’m not thinking of interpretation. And I trust the direction. I’m not exactly in charge; more of a conduit." We put our work out there and have no control over how it will be interpreted by others. And that is as it should be. And what is more interesting, is that half the time I myself am unclear about what my message is until it is out there and I look again. Un misterio de la escritura.
I'm with you on that. We can control what we write, when we put it out there and other things like that, but we have no control over how it gets received or interpreted. There's a great article that I've read a couple of times about the dangers of attempting to do everything in the way you think the audience wants it.
https://gurwinder.substack.com/p/the-perils-of-audience-capture
Thanks for this response - the open door and hallway-following metaphor is very apt. Sometimes it's like going in all directions in the dark, with an awareness that somehow you already *know* the house.
It's funny how an essentially undidactic exercise ends up taking its only conceivable form. It's nothing short of magic.
Fantástica!!
Gracias Mónica. Me da gusto que te gustó. Y ojalá que tengamos lluvia.
I admire your writing, Victor. 39 Boys on Ground should be here Friday. Looking forward to it! : )
Thanks so much, James. I appreciate your comment and hope you enjoy the book. As I mention in the afterword, I struggled and revised, and finally decided enough, time to let them go into the world. Kinda like I hesitated with this piece. Many thanks again!
Jim, downstairs, , stole my thoughts and feelings!
I did manage to kept my big smile on my face. THAT no one can take away! Thank you!
Oh, those folks that steal our thoughts, aren't they something? :) Thanks so much Elva for reading and your lovely comment!
Thanks for this one, Victor.
I love this section:
I believed I was always welcome. I arrived with a thousand ships in my throat, coughed them across a continent. They skidded over mountains and prairies, discharging cities and sewage in their wake. Our culture took root and made the grass wither.
Thanks much for reading and commenting, Russell. Glad you enjoyed it!
You have woven another amazing tapestry with this one, Victor. Setting it free was definitely the right call.
Why, thank you Mike. I gotta admit that sometimes I'm not sure about putting things out there, letting them go. But hey, I figured enough waiting :) Thanks for you lovely comment!
The pleasure of your writs is all mine!