I Certainly Felt I Had An Idea

You Almost Believe That You Will Never Come To The End Of A Roll Of Tape; And When You Do, There Is A Feeling, Nearly, Though Very Briefly, Of Shock And Grief.

A Problem That I Have With Everything Fictional Is That Writers Are Always Having To Come Up With Sudden Artillery Explosions In The Middle Of Whatever Is Going On. The Characters Are Having Interesting, Subtle Interactions, Or Jealousies, Or Whatever It Is, And Suddenly Some Gigantic Angry Eruption Has To Happen, A Giant Gasp Where Everyone Has To Scramble Around. That's The Point Where I'm Turned Off. I Want The Dynamic Range To Be A Little Smaller. I Don't Like The Big False Bangs.

There Is No Good Word For Stomach; Just As There Is No Good Word For Girlfriend. Stomach Is To Girlfriend As Belly Is To Lover, And As Abdomen Is To Consort, And As Middle Is To Petite Amie.

So What Rhyming Poems Do Is They Take All These Nearby Sound Curves And Remind You That They First Existed That Way In Your Brain. Before They Meant Something Specific, They Had A Shape And A Way Of Being Said. And Now, Yes, Gloom And Broom Are Floating Fifty Miles Away From Each Other In You Mind Because They Refer To Different Notions, But They're Cheek-by-jowl As Far As Your Tongue Is Concerned. And That's What A Poem Does. Poems Match Sounds Up The Way You Matched Them When You Were A Tiny Kid, Using That Detachable Front Phoneme.

I Prefer Reading E-books On A High Resolution Lcd Screen - Like The Ipod Touch's - Although The Pixel Density Could And Should Be Much Higher.