the writer
nasrin khosrowshahi
2012
January 31, February 1st ,Vancouver 2012. It is wet outside. The writer scratches her hair, her head. The phrase “it is wet outside” is not very accurate, “it is drizzling” would be better. She looks down at her umbrella on the moss-green floor, she has to tilt her chair to see it. The writer is back in the library of the community college on 49th, she is once more typing, typing. She is once more starting the great American novel, which is, technically spoken, the wrong term, she is not American, this is not a novel. Voices in the back, today is January 31st. the year? 2012. She still makes mistakes, writes 2011 instead of 2012. Old age, old age. She is 56 going on 57, it does not really make any difference, she could be 10, she could be 90. She was born old, that is what happens with the all-American female nerd. The term all-American, once more wrong, once more wrong. Author ponders, she has it all wrong. She is utterly confused and it shows in her writing. That is why she is unpublished, despite a super-prolific output, the words are all incoherent, the sentences fragmented. She is not able to hang on to a thought, that is what happens when you watch too much TV. Short attentionspan, short attention span, bold and beautiful did you in, did you in. ah, the memories of a couch potato, how is that for a booktitle? She could title this text like that, she could start querying agents, she always does that, always, always, always. Her queries sail thru cyberspace, fifty already in January, that is how it is, that is how it is. The writer- the next day. She is sitting in UBC, the University of British Columbia, in the most awkward chair there is. How can you type, if you are in an arm chair, where did they find this chair? Yes, it is a library, but, hey, you cannot just take all the readingish, comfy armchairs and put them in front of computers, that a computerlab don’t make. Author/writer here pauses, her syntax is slightly off, maybe it could soldier on as stylistic idiosyncrasy, who knows, who knows? She types fast and furious, she has sent out 50 queries in 30 days, all through January of 1
the writer
nasrin khosrowshahi
2012
2012. it is now, February first, she still has no publisher, no agent. She lives her life agentless, which is ok, there are more pressing, more awful things. A free-lancing writer, that is what she is. Now. Unpublished, too. But, hey, she will be published, eventually. If you build it they will come, can the movie be wrong? Let us just keep on building, better then being shoved into an insane asylum. If you don’t write you go insane, that is how hard your passion for writing burns. Your wish your want for the process of creating something, anything. Obviously, you could cook or clean, but, apparently, women of a certain age run away from their domestic duties. So her prof posited last year, the writer is a writer, not a housewife anymore, not a homemaker, not, not. Not that a writer is not some kind of glorified housewife, not that, not that. Author here ponders, her insights are smashing, they always are , always are. She should go back to poetry, to animation, to painting, to something, something. There has to be more than one person in this book. There have to be players, characters. The man to her right, or is it her left, is pretty good, he has curly hair and looks at his monitor, while having his head lean into his left hand. He is pensive, maybe, though he might be a regular facebook stalker. Ah, mark zuckerberg, look what you’ve started, and your company is going public these days. Author here ponders, if she should somehow tie this in with palo alto, but she is distracted by the woman in the far who is turning her pencil; around. By the high ceilings here. Ah, the writer, not able to hold on to any congruent thought, and she is not able to decipher what CONGRUENT means. She just types and types and types and types away. She has 703 words, so is that enough for a start, a start of a 100 000 word novel, one that is lacking a plot , a character, one that is so very very plotless. Storyarc, schmoryarc. The writer ponders, she should join a meetup group for writers, that should be fun fun. Critiques that smash you, make you wither away under the barrage of influxing negativity, she has enough e-rejections already. At least 300 2
the writer
nasrin khosrowshahi
2012
of them, 300, 300. and our writer here, types, types, types, types some more. And stop, and spellcheck, spellcheck. (802 words). She leans back in the arm chair, her first bout of spellchecking is over. What now, what next. What next? The writer ponders if she should put commas where they belong, question marks where they belong, should she, should she, or should she forego orthographical conventions in order to make the text more lively. What should she do, should she close her eyes and fashion a character, a male one, to opposite her female protagonist aka THE WRITER. Should she name the characters, should she make a little maquette with CHARACTER A, CHARACTER B, CHARACTER C. and what would the plot be? The subject matter? The writer scratches her head, the subject matter should be, what else, writing. Yay for writing. She should fashion a story about different hapless writers who try to publish their books but do not find a publisher. The after November nano crowd. Nano stands for National Novel Writing Month, the writer ponders how she should infuse her explanations eloquently, is there even a way to do this, how can you do that? Should you even explain stuff, in the time of google, readers can easily look up stuff, they can they should. Writing these days, ah, publishing these days. What with cyberspace, there are a lot of polemics to analyze, and author is not quite sure, if she used the word POLEMICS in the right way, the right way. She is hunched over, typing typing, her next all-Canadian novel is taking form, taking form. All-American, all-Canadian, all- Italian. All-earthy. She scratches her head, she could make this story all about identity crises, not that she cares one way or another. That is not her target-audience, people that are hung up on racism, then again, she could go the seinfeldian way and insult all ethnic groups, no discrimination, none and none and none. She ponders, ponders, ponders. The room here is nice, she is out of words, has no plot no plot no plot. Somehow she skeetered off-course, has to rewrite this, rewrite this. She could, should 3
the writer
nasrin khosrowshahi
2012
rename this text, re-title it. THE WRITER or SEINFELD MADE ME DO IT. Huh, huh? That is quite a catchy title, people will pick it up like warm buns, all the bibliophiles in Powell’s, Portland, the ones that hover around St. Marks Bookshop, before it is eaten up by Cooper Union. How to write a novel how to write a novel how to write a novel. Hmmm, and we have 1217 words here, not bad, how did writers write in the olden times, before word count buttons, how and how and how? The writer looks at the monitors of the people next to her, one is an aspiring doctor, one is an aspiring Francophile. Fast forward forty years, a guy in a white coat, with glasses and beard, one a grandma. Things never change, now do they do they? And we type and type and type ourselves into oblivion, ah, oblivion. -------------------------------------------THE WRITER OF THE 21ST CENTURY NOVEL- she kind of likes this title, seems, she changes the title every two seconds, the title evolves organically, that is how she will explain it to Charlie Rose, if and when he is asking. She will wear a red hat on the show, the reason is, of course, because a woman in a red, asymmetric hat sat down in front of the computer opposite of her, her hat is kinda weird, the writer should take a photo, there are not enough words in the English language or any language for that matter to describe that hat. Weird is a good word, it sums up that particular hat. The writer spent her minutes by researching industry news, publishers weekly, galleycat, new york times articles, the website of farrar geroux straus, whatever, the most fascinating article she came upon was a description of a writer who goes to the athenaeum each and every day, apparently that is a library in boston, and types his texts, his texts. Author, writer ponders, she 4
the writer
nasrin khosrowshahi
2012
will do the same, she will get a communitycard for 100 bucks and come here, each and every day and type up all her masterpieces, all thoses great books books. All her novels, her works of fiction, she will fashion the persona of THE WRITER, she will will will. What with cocaine habit or drunken stupor, what with pearls and pink cardigans, grandma writer or seafaring, bearded adventurer, anyarchetype will do, should do. The persona of a writer, can change in seconds, seconds. Listening in to the muse, whatever she is, wherever she is. And, hey, it is pretty debatable if she is a he or a she. Apparently, there was a film called THE MUSE, with Sharon Stone, but, hey, we digress, digress. And we type and type and type. There should be another character in this book. Not just the WRITER. Another writer, maybe, a male one. One that sits in the cafeteria one stock below this one. Has a soggy sandwich in his hand, bites on it, washes it down with cold chamomile tea. The WRITER, the original one, the one of this text, the female one, scratches her head, somehow, a guy drinking chamomile tea is a kinda wonky type, an unbelievable character, male characters have to have muscles and extra testosterone, or else, or else. She foregoes the task of creating another character, she seems to be not good at this, she’d rather write about herself, about this room, maybe, on the second floor of the Barber Learning Center, in UBC, it could be the third floor, people have come and gone, she is still typing here, typing here. It is 2:42, still February first, still 2012. Her words accumulate, which is good, the manuscript marches forward, forward. Manuscripts don’t march forward, you idiot, idiot. Somehow, the writer notices that she is going arguably insane, but that is fine fine fine. She is losing it ever so slightly, must be this arm chair, must be the noise in the back, must be, must be. This room is spectacular, you should really come and see it, next time you are in the city, yep, why not why not why not. Author slash writer ponders, it does not help that she starts surfing the 5
the writer
nasrin khosrowshahi
2012
web in between writing spurts. But, whatever, we are on top of page six here, this could be her new novel writing month, 50 000 words, maybe, 100 000 in February February. And we type and type and type. Type type type. Type. 1892 words it is, it is. On February first of the year 2012. her insightless ramblings, the drivel poured onto the keyboard, ah, let us write and write and write. And write write write. ----------------------------------------------------------and what happened while we were typing away, what nugget of news did we stumble upon, while uploading our great masterpiece here. Yep, facebook went public, well, not quite, they filed for going public, biggest IPO ever, the author slash writer is not quite sure of the correct terms, anyhoo, FACEBOOK GOING PUBLIC, while we are composing our lowly little new novel here. She scratches her head, is not quite sure, how to incorporate that news into the fabric of this book, ah, who knows and knows and knows. We have 2000 words here, and that is all that counts that counts that counts. -----------------------------------------Shit that WRITERS say, shit writers say, there is a good title, especially ‘cause the world is awash with you tube movies, of the “shit- fill in the blank-say”-kind. Last year, everything was OCCUPY this, OCCUPY that, this year it is SHIT so-and-so says, so-and-so say. Sign of the times. THE WRITER scratches her head, her writing sucks, ah, sign of the times, sign of the times. She used to be good at writing, utterly eloquent, those days are over, over. She watches NEW ADVENTURES OF OLD CHRISTINE-reruns on the green couch, this cannot be enough fodder for a novel. Watching TV as plotline. That should work, has to, has to. ---------------------------6
the writer
nasrin khosrowshahi
2012
February second and we are at it again. Writing, fast, furiously. Without a plot, but, hey, that is how it is how it is. It is what it is. Nice, that one can fill the air with platitudes when one has nothing to say. Fillers, fillers. Hey, you cannot be profound all the time, there is ample space for banal observations, clichÊs, the like the like the like. Hooray 4 repetitions. For terms like lol. Testing, s-e-x-ting. Yesterday facebook filed for getting public. But we said that already, already. The US wages war, wherever she can. Yep, still the same, still the same. Same old same old same old. Author here ponders if she should wage a flaming pen like a sword against the atrocities of this world. In short, if she should write political stuff. If that is her mission. Nope, she writes in the same way a plumber changes the plumbing of a house. Art as craft, writing as function. Something like that, something of that kind. Author here sits in her old alma mater, the art school that gave her a certificate, spat her out and said: well, now you are on your own. Sink or swim, sink or swim. Well, she basically works on her sinking skill, as seems to be the case for all of the 300 and something creatures that sailed over the stage in may of 2010. We are not tomorrow’s twenty under forty, not tomorrow’s twenty over sixty. We are bad artists, bad film makers, bad writers. In her case, very very very bad writers. Yep, the days of a writer, her syntax, her grammar, her choice of words, wonky as always, ah, to be able to write outta kilter outta kilter. the fumes from the ocean factory, like always, like always. Author ponders, she should annotate her writings, no one will understand her non-footnoted waxing, ah, to write to write to write. Whining as art form, how do you do that, do that. Eloquent whining, an art form in itself, in itself. 2484 words, aha, not bad and bad and bad. -----------------------------------------------------------------------
7
the writer
nasrin khosrowshahi
2012
Still sitting in the same seat, slight headachy pangs, still typing, fast, furiously, fast, furiously. Skimming the internet, so much to see, so many films, who has the time, who has the time. Apparently, author here has the time, it is really nice that a person refers to herself as “author here”, “author here” instead of “I”, the third person instead of the first person. Kind of like George Costanza referring to himself as “George” and author here is losing it, ever so slightly ever so slightly. This is what her life has come to, this is what she has sunk to, hovering around the library, typing up semi-strange passages, trying to convince herself that this is literature. There are two journals in her basement waiting to be transcribed, which seems to be writerspeak for typing it up, anyhoo, she is shopping her manuscripts around, which is another talkingshoppish term she picked up. Ah, to be a poet a poet a poet. And what is the dif, between poet and writer, how does this work how how how. Outside, still the oceanfactory. Inside here, slight toastiness, she is hungry, she is, she is. She fragments all these words into the keyboard, one letter at a time, one letter, one letter. 2707, hmm. We are marching forward, maybe she will make it to five thousand, come midnight, come midnight. Ah to type to type to type to type. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------Still sitting in the same place, still typing typing typing typing. There is the clickerclacker of other typewriters, the laughs in the back, the noise of the cardreader to her left. Librarians wondering why she is here, there is the steam from the oceanfactory. Author here ponders, she should fashion the persona of a researcher for herself, have books near to the computerstation, wear glasses, scratch her head more often. Well, at least she is wearing a black quasi-turtleneck, in black a la Juliette Greco, she is having her hair in a bun, a la anylibrarian, she ponders, does 8
the writer
nasrin khosrowshahi
2012
she have a serious face, enough wrinkles, the right aura of unisexness, yep, we can muster that, muster that. And she types, types types. She will have her stuff published eventually eventually. She teeters somewhere between fiction and non-fiction, she is losing it losing it. Melancholia sets in, dumbness, the like, the like. Stupidity, there for the measuring, there for the measuring. Her writing does not really make sense, coherence, ah, so yesterday so yesterday. Steam from the ocean factory, lots of it, lots, lots. She should have brie and a beret, somehow, that is more artistic than just sitting here and shivering. 2990 words, the little icon is not really visible, too tiny, 2 tiny. And we type and type and type. Author here just looked through announcements of writer residencies, somehow, she does not feel like applying for one. They are all kinda shifty, they have not much to do with writing, they have to do with leaving your place and venturing out into the world. They are slightly on the adventurous side, we do not need that don’t need that. Writing is about a room of her own, it is about a computer of her own. And in her case it is about sitting at one of the free computers in town, in one of the many many libraries. You can put your stuff in cyberspace, archive it in the clouds in the clouds. A writer in the clouds, ah, shit that writesr say, writers say writers say. 3000 words, and then some and then some and then some. Let’s stop this now, let’s take our left hand and slide it over the black keyboard, like a pianist in a grand gesture, like rose in the golden girls, yep, that way that way that way. Author here could care less that her connotations are silly and dull, coherence does not live here anymore anymore anymore. Shit writers say, yep, author here sure is good at bullshitting, that is how it is how it is how it is. And we still have no plot no plot no plot. ----------------------------------------------------------------------and let's retitle this to “painter writer animator”. Sounds slightly catchy, but, like always, there is a dilemma, should the words be followed by a comma, should there be three words and two 9
the writer
nasrin khosrowshahi
2012
commas, should the words be capitalized or not, or some of them, should it be this way, that way or the other. Author here is now sitting in the downtown library, the person next to her watches you-tube videos and chuckles, or maybe facebook videos, he has something that says MOST POPULAR VIDEOS, see, there is a lot to see, when you walk through this city, there is a lot to observe and a lot to document. And you thought that this text has no plot, ah, you just venture out into the world, you will start writing, writing. Author here ponders if she should rent a studio on main and start throwing paint at canvasses, after all, she studied painting and animation, animation is more fun, but watching the films on the monitor next to her is fun, too, all the films are comical and funny. Author scratches her head, well, she would, if her glasses were not in the way, she missed big bang theory, and, furthermore, she missed the new adventures of old christine, she will make it in time home for king of queens, the office and two and a half men, in the night, there will be seinfeld and frasier. Ssomehow these are not the pursuits of a literary giant, thus, maybe, she is not a literary giant after all. What is the female form of GIANT? Giantess? And we type and type and type. Person next to her chuckles, author has to laugh, too, while typing, they say, laughter is contagious, yep, that is how it is how it is. And we have approximately 3500 words here, not bad, not bad, not bad. Heap on the words, she ponders, why she is so congratulatory. And stop and spellcheck, spellcheck. ----------------------------------------------------------must be February three. Sitting in the oakridge library, for a change, for a change. The writer cozies up to all the different libraries in the Lower Mainland, each equipped with well-tuned computers waiting for her input. 10
the writer
nasrin khosrowshahi
2012
At this speed, she can produce 600 000 words per year, give or take, 6 million words in ten years. George Orwell just produced a million words, she read that somewhere, she ponders if the amount of words put down on paper has anything to do with the quality of the words. She ponders if it would be better to type 100 words per minute, to be a fluent ten finger typer, or if her peck and choose method will garner equally valid results. This is what writers think about, yep, not subject matter, plot, the like, the like. They stalk their agents on twitter, and if they do not have an agent they stalk their potential agents. Thus, they know who drank too much on a friday night, who went to the hamptons, who has a crush on who. Some young folks in new york city that hold her destiny in their collective hands. Writer here ponders if she should become an agent herself, she just might put a shingle outside her bathroom door. Writer as agent, book sold by owner. Usually, properties sold by owner do not sell, but, hey, this is a recession, real estate bubble, foreclosures, freddie and mac, everything goes everything everything. Her marketing plan, her marketing plan. These days she studies the bookmarket more than she writes, she reads books like the discussion between umberto eco and some french guy about the future of books, umberto states posits claims that books will never go out of vogue, people want to read PETER PAN on a tablet, but, at one point, they want to own their very own PETER PAN. Fetishizing bibliophiles, they will make writers survive. Author here ponders, is she even a writer, given that her fingers start hurting, because this keyboard is annoying, you have to push the buttons really down and given that she mostly uses the right middle finger, her ability to write further is definitely compromised. There is always something, something physical, that stands in the way of her creative pursuits. When animating, your hand gets numb from drawing the same image over and over, when painting, the smell of the paints does you in, when acting, stage fright grapples you by the throat, and then again, all of this does not pay not pay not pay. And if you 11
the writer
nasrin khosrowshahi
2012
become rich and famous, the paparazzi will take photos of you first thing in the morning when you strut out the door for your morning jog in your pink flannel jump suit. Yep, this is how it is how it is how it is how it is. And we write and write and write. Stop, spellcheck, spellcheck. Ahh, how many many words? 4018, the ubiquitous well done, the pat on the back, the day in the library here, moving forward forward. ---------------------------------------------------------Ron Paul on the telly, the author here lost some of her writing, the computer shut down, out of nowhere, she ponders, her words got lost lost. She tries to reconstruct those words, she remembers some sentences about the virtues of pen and paper, the independence of writing, the not being tied to a machine that might or might not work, on the telly once more Ron Paul on abortion. If the author was American, Ron Paul would definitely have her vote. He is just great. Anyhoo, let us type and type and write. 4118 words, not bad not bad. She looked through the writers’ rooms series in the guardian, you can do that, with a push of a button, you can read an interview with max frisch or umberto eco, with the paris review, and then you can go on typing away, typing away. So, no one will read this, just fine just fine just fine. Her writing is more like jamming, you start up and see where it will take you. The day is moving into the night, the fan works noisily in the kitchen, there is no plot as of yet, the writer just pluckers along, and now she remembers what she was writing about when the computer shot down earlier in the afternoon, she was reminiscing about her tea in the coffeeshop at the corner of 41st and arbutus, that is what is the main subject matter, the main plot of this her story, her walks all over town, her meanderings, not enough for a story, maybe maybe maybe. Somehow she lost her thread, but that seems to happen a lot these days, she will go back in and fragment the text further more, only to collage it later on. Writing is tough, there is no real structure, you just start somewhere and each 12
the writer
nasrin khosrowshahi
2012
sentence somehow morphs into the next. And let us type and type and type. She feels like having ice cream, maybe she will drive down to the grocery store, anyhoo, let us type and type and type. --------------------------------------------------------------She really feels like having ice cream, vanilla, though there are different ones in the frozen food section, there is something called premium and another one called original, there is soy ice cream, and author here ponders if this is really what one should write about, there are more pressing issues than the slight differences between the differing flavours of ice cream, anyhoo, we have about 4500 words here, save, spellcheck, if you just keep on typing, a story will crystallize, like magic like magic like magic. ---------------------------------------------------------------------february 4, maybe so, once again in the library in oakridge, the chair here is utterly uncomfy, there are only 55 minutes left and for some weird reason it gives the second count away, too, the little icon in the upper corner, she can stare at the second counter, and do that for one hour, somehow, there are better things to do, she should just do her typing, hopefully, a great text will emerge, by accident, by accident. The woman at the other station types fast and furiously, so does the man at the other computer. Are they fashioning their novels, just like author here, is this what people do? Apparently, not everyone is a writer, the amazon contest for best breakout novel took a month to fill up, it took a month to fill up the 5000 spots, seems, not everyone is a writer a writer. Author here ponders, given that all her submissions are rejected, one could think that there is no publishing going on whatsoever, but apparently there is there is there is. Just not for her, just not for her. Her texts lack substance, coherence, the like the like. Lack narratives, lack syntax. Lack 13
the writer
nasrin khosrowshahi
2012
this and that and the other. Well, they sure don't lack wordcount, we can provide the element of prolificness, even if we twist and turn our sentences in weird and strange ways. Outside, the sun is shining, a nice cozy february day, apparently, there are early springs everywher everywhere. Facebook is going public, it seems to be the big thing that reporters talk about. Especially British reporters, the bbc is awash with analyzing face book, whereas the American stations do their usual cowboy-sih thing, let us start this war or that war or the other. Author ponders, she should use her pen to start changing the world, but, hey, it is not PEN anymore, it is KEYBOARD, she should start a group, a non-profit called KEYBOARD. Everyone is starting an ngo, why not her, not her. She is no teamworky creature, she is a lonely wolf, thus, she might as well stick to writing, unpublished writing. No books from her texts, not yet, not yet, not yet. She has to die first, someone will find her texts in the attic, then she will become an overnight sensation. To be a famous artist, you first have to die and die and die. So the saying goes, writer here types forward, forward. 4880 words, not bad not bad not bad. Might as well hit 5000, she watches the words accumulate, hits the wordcount button, the software here in the library does not show the wordcount automatically, it shows the seconds though, ah, every one of thess computers is weird and strange , they all march to their own little drummers, drummers. 4939, 4939. seventy words more, seventy, seventy. Might as well spellcheck, save, the like the like. One can see the warmness from here, the sun bathing the world, from here, from here. Her words are off, that is ok ok, as long as they accumulate, everything is fine, everything is fine. 4990, just some more words some more words some more words. And... 5000 it is, time to leave, time to leave. Go thru the mall, take the canada line, travel around this city, venture out to burnaby, just, don’t sit still don’t sit still. Write, type, let the day pass you be, why not why not why not why not. She is some kind of poet, a sucky one, but a poet nonetheless. Some kind of artist, an unsuccessful one, 14
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nasrin khosrowshahi
2012
an artist nonetheless. She has a certificate to prove it, a bachelor of fine arts, whatever that is that is. And the day marches forward, forward, forward. ------------------------------------------------hm, hm, hm, february 5. On the telly, fareed sakaria, gps, a panel discussion about mitt romney, one guy from the new Yorker, another one from the ney york times or another new york daily, author here did not quite get his job description, one woman, another woman, the discussion is lively, everything mitt. Somehow this is not what writer here should describe on a sunny sleepy Sunday morning, she should describe her walk to Kerrisdale, her morning coffee, the silentness of the waking-uppy city, the formulation of her text, in her mind, while walking, her search for words that are utterly eloquent and well constructed but that vanish once you open the house door, the words that merely live while you are outside and are not there anymore once you are at the typewriter, the description of entropy that never ever works, the words that make only sense to the writer and that pass the reader by, always always. the writer on the telly, his name is david brooks and he is an author, his book is THE SOCIAL ANIMAL, author here could google it, the other one is a new Yorker editor, then there is a woman named crystia freeland, and now author here had to take a call and now there is a vacationey ad, all her words are mushing into one word salad, not that good, not that good, not that good. Tonight, there will be the superbowl, author ponders, if she should write ‘bout that, it seems her subject matters are so very random, they amass serendipitously, the sun outside is shining, the day is mild and happy, green leaves outside, the quietness of a writer’s room, author is not quite sure if she should type, write inside, maybe, it is so much better to venture out to the library, the discussions on the telly bombard her thought processes, how can you write while listening in to a short walk thru the herstory of democracy, on the telly, fast fast fast fast fast fast. 15
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nasrin khosrowshahi
2012
And now an interview with Singapore’s prime minister. Ah, cnn, cnn. How did writers manage to fashion their pieces far away from the 24-hour-bombardment from the telly, how and how and how. Author here notices her writing going strangely array, but, hey, even if this is substandard waxing, horrible musing, we are still at 5476, not bad not bad not bad. ----------------------------------------------------------------5500 words, seems that the interview is taking place against the backdrop of the davos economic forum, author finds it difficult to listen in to the so very nice and polite talking heads, there is laughing when the prime minister says that a naval base in Singapore would be twice as big as Singapore itself, author here is not quite sure if she understood it right, fareed sakaria counters that you have ample amounts of space to put casinos on, author here is utterly confused by all the fragments of words that collapse into her writing, she tries to talk up against the noise pollution, spelling out each and every word that is spoken on the machine, the television. And now we have 5700, outside the sun is shining, inviting the author to leave her seat in front of the laptop, to venture out, to have the slight breeze in her face, anything, but staying put and type and type and type. She sits hunched over, this cannot be good cannot be good. Sentences, as fast as possible, as fast as possible. ---------------------------------------The word COMMENSORATE is used a lot on the telly, author ponders, it is a nice word, pretty big, she has no clue whatsoever what it means, she looks out at the plants, looks down at the paper basket, anyhoo, she types, types, types. ----------------------------------
16
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nasrin khosrowshahi
2012