Author: JulioSueco
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Patrick White: Flaws in the Glass (first 155 pages.)
Linguistics is one of those fields that have no real use for those of us who are natives to the language in question since much of it is already ingrained. It only becomes a useful tool when studying a foreign tongue. Reading Patrick White has given me the opportunity to put into use these tools…
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Last night I dreamt I held in my hand an apple sized kiwi. I looked at it in bewilderment as I knew it to be a hybrid. I went about to set my teeth to it so as to indulge in it. I hazily lived this dream through patches of foggy scenes and much the…
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Fiction is the idea that we must invent worlds and that we must somehow demonstrate, for the sheer purpose of the readers sake, a sort of description without giving too much of what is being told. The idea is to allow for the reader to make up its mind of what he or she is…
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‘Voice’ is a hard subject. I feel I have no voice to which I can attach a determined form of writing. However, I do notice that my voice, when am writing, tends to be a melancholic one, a serious one and one that is reflective of what it is writing, As if the way I…
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I want to write something beautiful, I don’t know what but I hope that I’ll soon know. I believe I like writing because somehow I too want to depict scenes. The problem is that I don’t have much to say. However, I like words so much I spend a great deal of time reading them.…
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I don’t know what is it about the Swedish nature that somehow always seems to seep in my writing. Language reflects the environment it is said. Presumably my writing betrays this influence. What is it that appeals to me so much in this essence I seem to want to depict so bad? I mean, do…
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The trees had been planted by some immigrants at the time Alaska belonged to Mother Russia. They were not native to this soil but adapted themselves very well, spreading far and wide across the valley and even proclaimed a natural reserve not so long ago. It now attracts tourists from afar as Siberia and a…
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There was only the air left between you and me As the moon glared behind the translucent clouds Inringed by the rainbow of your smile Thinking about you, sucking warmth of your memory Your lips Your smell, Your intoxicating love scent
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Greg drew sketches of objects his irises picked up ‘outside him’ he says. Carl on the other side of the studio wrote sketches. He used words like puzzle bits and his pencil like a brush. ‘The mind’ he said, ‘is the canvas’. There was a particular one that drew my attention, so to speak. It…
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I don’t know if it has been done before but since I certainly haven’t seen it done in the English language am giving it a shot. Although I must confess that it worries me that it has been done before. I frankly don’t know and am doing it, if and only, for the sheer purpose…
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Have you ever had a glass of clean, fresh, pure mountain water run your throat all the way, cascading down your ribs? At times the Nordic winds give the same feeling except that these gusts are cool and cold in a caressing manner. The spring heat is enough for the body to feel grateful at…
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There was only that one chance. The crowds were thick enough to create a diversion and grab it. The money bag lay idle in the counter, so it would be enough for a fire alarm to cause a small panic, stretch the arm, grab the dough and make a run for the door. The only…