I don't get this weird claim that Loomer or whoever looks older than they actually are, do you people think adr*n*chr*m*-sucking celebrities represent normal aging or something
Harlan Hill is the only person I can think of who is accurately accused of looking older than he is and that's more because he insists on dressing like a character from a Hitchcock film
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You'll learn a LOT from writing reams of material you ultimately end up discarding. Some stuff just isn't meant to see the light of publication, but looking back on it, you'll glean ideas and concepts that you can use in better works.
This is particularly useful if you're writing memoirs or autofiction. If something crazy/significant/worth writing about happens to you, I don't think it's a good idea to publish something about it ASAP. But writing about it ASAP solely for your own edification? Smart.
Example: ten years ago, I decided to hitchhike across the U.S. I went from my hometown of Syracuse, New York to Portland, Oregon and saw and did a ton of crazy shit along the way. I blogged about it extensively and also planned to write and self-publish a memoir when it was over.
I've always neglected my health. When I moved to Mexico, it became REALLY bad. At the end of last year, I tipped the scales at 270 pounds. That's embarrassing. And borderline life-threatening. I'm also getting older. I had to do something about it.
For most of my life, I haven't owned a car and I've lived in cities where I had to walk everywhere. In particular, in Budapest, I lived in the city center and rarely took the metro/buses/trams. So I had to engage in a minimum amount of physical activity that kept my weight down.
Mexican cities are laid out like American cities, however: spread-out, suburbanized. So I need to take a cab if I want to go anywhere other than the convenience store. I also rely a lot more on delivery services here. End result: a far more sedentary lifestyle.
Clearing out more junk from my brain as part of the writing process. Cycling back to my odd habit of moving from place to place as an adult.
I do not like my hometown. At all. I wouldn't say I hate it, but having to move back there for whatever reason would be hellish.
I grew up in Syracuse, a small Rust Belt city in upstate New York whose most famous cultural exports are Tom Kenny and Bobcat Goldthwait. It was sustained by GM and Carrier: when those plants closed in the 90's and 00's, the city sunk into a pit of poverty and hopelessness.
Further adding to the misery of living there is the weather. It's overcast most of the year and the city is the snowiest one in America owing to its location near Lake Ontario at the confluence of two major storm currents. Getting up at 5:30 to dig your car out of snow is common.
NEW AT TERROR HOUSE: "In both, Moloch seems to be a harsh, industrial demon who wants our souls and imaginations, and overcoming him is the goal." - new analysis/criticism piece by Leslie D. Soule terrorhousemag.com/hunting-moloch/
If you enjoyed this piece, be sure to check out Leslie D. Soule's poetry chapbook MY MENTOR, DEATH!
JOURNEY TO THE END OF THE NIGHT by Louis-Ferdinand Céline
BEAUTIFUL LOSERS by Leonard Cohen
FLOW MY TEARS, THE POLICEMAN SAID by Philip K. Dick
PLEASANT HELL by John Dolan
THE ART OF SEDUCTION by Robert Greene
WHORESON by Donald Goines
IN MY SKIN by Kate Holden
(cont'd)
BRAVE NEW WORLD by Aldous Huxley
MEMOIR OF A RUSSIAN PUNK by Edward Limonov
ANOTHER DAY IN PARADISE by Eddie Little
DO TRAVEL WRITERS GO TO HELL? by Thomas Kohnstamm
THE ATOM STATION by Halldór Laxness
HEART KILLER by Andy Nowicki
SNOW by Orhan Pamuk
(cont'd)