Could there be an openly humble school of literature, which
goes ahead and admits that the page is not
superior to fifteen minutes of an ordinary morning, if you are in good health
and paying full attention?
Writing like a friend who says, Look. Who sits near you, and
now and then holds your hand. Writing
that is quiet company. A cleaning lady
with a kind word as she confronts the mess.
The manifesto for such a school would likewise have to be
modest and brief, free of posturing and denunciation, and without any sort of
shouting or waving of hands or flags.
(08.22.12, Phuket)
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