Robert Kelly Orchard Park Golf Superintendent

Chapter 7 (last part)

; Andrea folded the paper and sat down.

Mark was staring at him. With fingers drummed on the table a tune. He looked back at Francis, who did not mind the whole thing. He decided to break the ice: "So Andrew, what does this threatening letter to a psychopath with our problem?". He returned to fix it.

"Then just do not understand," Andrea kept her head slightly tilted to one side, the look on the floor.

"There's a war in place. We're no longer talking about style or another. Here is a sharp-toothed monster that is emerging in all its squalor. "

"Ah," Frank nodded, "Here the only problem is the sales peak, the sabotage of a cultural industry at the outset. You're not taking too seriously a simple quarrel and a couple of letters from fans psychopaths? "

" No, "replied Andrea. "Luana was just the beginning. These people were in dire need of show. They were to emerge from the darkness of consumerism. What we want is action. What seeking and decision-making. We are living in our area. But this trend is general. "

"Boom! The end of the world, "said Francis.

"Francesco you pretend not to understand. Here is our future at stake. They want to be the power, the fulcrum, the centralization of culture. Become the only option. "

"But what the hell has this to do with the accusations of syntax, wrong views, recommendations, and other crap? "

" Luana, unbeknownst to him, is a Trojan horse. She has organized, gave the reasons, broadcast of ideas, has created a community. He gathered the energies of people who were bored to death. And someone else knows how to exploit them. "

"Andrea, you ..."

"Crazy?"

"I did not say, but ..." Francis tried to defend themselves.

Marco got up, took his whiskey glass and emptied it. "What do you propose to do? We could contradict them on their own ground, to improve our works, bring down their charges. "

"Useless, their castle is built on solid foundations. The only alternative is to defend our castle from the assault and start to prepare for the worst. "

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Chapter 7 (Part II, 12:00)

" Dear writer of a major publishing house, I'm your admirer. You could define a very jealous person. You know, I admire the writers really good, but to you only feel a fierce envy. Because you are not good, capable, and nor have the talent.

let's face it all: you posted because you made some friends.

I know you're thinking that I can choose not to read.

So you're thinking I'm a fool.

I know you're thinking that's not my business

But here is where you're wrong, because throughout the whole thing is my deal.

you, you and your buddies, you have polluted the literature, and killed the dreams and hopes of aspirants like me who put their heads and study, and not as you say, the heart.

you, you and your buddies, you helped to create a system in which the publication is a sort of divine concession to his acolytes by bosses and barons.

you, you and your buddies, you are allowed beyond friendship and the law of the market there are no other selection criteria.

Thanks to you, the Cartesian coordinates of this system can only be paraculaggine values. Meritocracy, the quality can only be considered if it falls within the two criteria mentioned above.

Now, we know, you and I, who not only your writing, you and your buddies , is sloppy, boring, meaningless, silly, dog shit, but is also a writing that kills the thought, imagination. It's a style that tries to atrophy the brain and mind. To interrupt the work of the synapse. To create links between different areas of the mind.

you, you and your buddies, tell summarizing, generalizing, rivers of words which preclude the use of sight. You, you and your buddies, you know only conceptualize. But a concept that has no form is invisible and empty.

Now, we know, you and I, that the stakes do not play on the "show, do not tell," I'm not one of those idiots following a poor demented Mrs. Luana in her, let's call it, crusade. I'm not one of those idiots in search of relief.

I'm not one of those idiots looking for a community that gives meaning to my existence.

I am one of those to whom they were shown endless possibilities.

I am one of those who have been promised the keys to the future.

I am one of those who have been leading a life foretold.

Instead, today, after numerous attempts, I find myself living and passively yours, you and your friends both repulsive stories, your grudge and insolence.

Well, Mr. author of a major publishing house I found a solution to the problem.

I and my cronies (four very different from those poor fools who follow the Luana, whose only aspiration is to teach them to write) we found the final solution.

'll get the eyes, cutting off the hands, and will reduce the brain to a pulp. To you and your buddies.

So, for fun. A small reward for these years so terribly boring.

Sincerely, a fan of his.

Paul Glowatski Philadelphia

Chapter 7 (Part One, Ore 11:00)

The idea that there was someone who could not write his pleasure, and even wanted to delete it from a hypothetical register as a writer had never, not even remotely touched the brain. The idea itself was ridiculous. How could anyone think of a capacity to eradicate a human being.

He had dreamed of literary cafes in which to discuss the great masters, surrounded by the best Italian and foreign writers. Invitations, galas, ceremonies, awards and considerations. Academic awards, a primary role in the Italian culture. The great pioneer of the new Italian. In the limit use the fantastic as a Trojan horse.

But, other than literary cafes, was meeting with other colleagues in a cold room with no windows around a round table. A discussion be taken against the counter-Luana and his acolytes. A search for some sort of protection from potted letters arrived at his address.

"The situation got out of hand. We are doing the ass "Frank broke the silence of the room. "The situation is crazy. We are competing with a neurotic schoolteacher and exalted, who spends his time looking for a pen with red blood all our mistakes. "

"Speak for yourself Francesco. I do not make mistakes. I follow my own style. "

"Yeah, right, Andrea," Mark put down his glass of whiskey on the table. He ran his tongue between his lips thin. "Let's face it, is telling us exactly the truth. Many of us consider the plot a goddess and supreme style and technique ... "

" Mark, you are diverting the main issue. All of us are aware of our limitations. This is not the problem. "

"So, enlighten us of immense Andrea!" Mark smiled, taking his glass of whiskey.

Andrea got up and ran his hand trembling on thinning hair. He took from his jeans pocket a slip of paper and unfolded it. He watched all of these before starting to read in low tone and hard.

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Interlude No. 1 Interlude No. 2

"The suburbs dream of violence. Sleepy asleep in their houses, sheltered by benevolent shopping malls, waiting patiently for the arrival of the nightmares that have them awaken in a world more full of passion ..."

JG Ballard, Kingdom Come

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I can no longer see fascists, communists, blacks, Jews, Palestinians, American imperialists and anti-globalization advocates. I see only men. Sometimes, often, I fear.

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The key word of the rebellion: awareness. The verb forged on the thin membrane of his brain. Like an old black and white film in his mind echoed the words of Burroughs: " A writer can write only one thing: what's in front of his senses at the time of writing ... I'm not a recording instrument ... I presume to impose a "theory", a "plot", a "continuity" ... As long as I can record directly to certain areas of psychic process I have limited features ... my goal is not to entertain ... ".

unacceptable.

had been aware from the outset of his goal. Educating for good writing. With good stories. Writers like Burroughs were the enemies. The other species. Those who technique is the enemy.

See what's on the tip of the fork: shit passes for a good meal. Their writing is bare, only capable of producing excrement.

"You had to have more awareness. You have underestimated your disciples. " Martin put his glass of rum on the table.

Luana returned to focus on the speech of his guest "There are always risks. There are always people over the top. I figured everything. "

Martin motioned to the waiter, "Another."

watched the local level. His disciples were bent over their notebooks. Groups of five persons intent to apply rules and words to be chained to their queen.

His writing workshop.

Martin leaned forward, a few inches from the face of Luana: "Perhaps you did not understand the problem well. Your fierce irony gave head to someone. You know who you are. If I'm not wrong your project was to reveal some altars and giving advice to aspiring. But ... from a certain point of view, someone Sbrocco.

She took the pineapple juice and took a sip.

"I mean, this is not ... well more 'I have the impression that it has crossed the threshold."

Luana put the glass down, rubbed his lip: "You are experiencing the influence of the enemy, Martin. Here there is no war in progress. This is just text. There are only good intentions to save money and advice to readers. "

Martin took a cigarette from the table. He lit it. A deep breath. Dense exhalation of awe.

"No, Luana. You're wrong. I have been a great supporter and your also a supporter of freedom of choice is that the writer of the reader. On my blog I was able to discern between a good criticism, suggestions for readings and personal attacks and targeted. I learned to differentiate between the souls of good will and damned souls. I, at least, recommended deployment does not impose. Instead, your brand has become a sword of Damocles on the head writers. And your blog has become a haven for aspiring writers and readers looking for interesting and useful reading for a destination for writers and pseudo Executioner failed. We are creating factions and even racist resentment toward certain types of readers. "

Luana closed hands. Squeezed. The long nails to scratch his skin. He slammed his fists on the table. Aspiring stopped writing and the place is blocked pending the smoke opacity lighting.

"Enough is enough. I can not deny any interest in what I do. Do not you dare to accuse me of any kind of frustration. Your paranoia is only dictated by your failure as a blogger. Are your reviews, peppered with crap to annoy the readers. Are you aspiring. If I remember correctly, you're the one who once wrote stories in the hope of publication. I never had aspirations to do so. "

Martin stood up. He moved the chair and picked up his pack of cigarettes. He finished his rum.

"Luana, I'm sorry. I understand that you've made your choice. I was hoping for one ... your patience. I want to clarify that you come down to same level as your enemy diversity is envy. "

She pushed the table hitting Martin in the thigh.

"Enough! Do not you dare insult me \u200b\u200bin my house. Get out. "

Martin while pawing the injured leg, bowed and disappeared, leaving behind a string of beads pixels.

Luana glanced at the tables. His disciples watched with eyes wide and shining. The Queen put his hand to his heart. " Show, do not tell!" . They reach into the heart and reciprocated in unison: " Show, do not tell!" .

Vincent, with his hand to the heart, along with some loyalists, smiled, closing his eyes. " Show, do not tell or die." the tip of the fork is just shit.

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Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 4

Avalon

"Extrapolate phrases from a broader context does not do justice to the quality of the text. This only serves to context and bring water to their mill. "

Everton:

"@ Avalon

You do not want just understand. It is not just expressions of bad taste as "The boy was old," "Lara was beautiful, a beauty all women, who do not show anything and they want to vomit, but also of logic. Because the main character did not kill the bad guy when he had a chance under the bridge Taur? And we are tired of the same stories. Enough of these ogres and orcs.

Avalon

"@ Everton:

You see that you have not read My novel, but you stop to the review of Loris, because there is no ogre in my story. Then if the protagonist has lashed the decisive blow to the enemy can be understood only by following the course of history. But then you always know how things go, right? You have your manual and your stupid rules. Do you know where you get your ridiculous comments? You're just whipping people and envious. "

Vincent:

@ Avalon

" You're an established author whose mastery of writing techniques is certified by the publication by a major publishing house, so do not listen well to criticism, say clearly, 99% are the result of envy passes for competence. "

disconnect in place.

Too easy. Yes, all too simple.

Thanks to this last shot, Vincenzo, had managed to inflict upon the enemy's yet another defeat. His arrogance and his vanity was too obvious a target. The rest of his enemy felt a rockstar literature.

The only viable alternative that his enemy was able to take was the display of erudition in the service of an improbable and his few faithful readers. A screen to save the crippling embarrassment of his style. Could not write, he knew well. So, he decided to invent intellectual . Result: in a pathetic post on the proliferation of historical research of the setting of his next novel seal of his dedication and authority. As if that served to improve his writing and his artistic talent. As if the information could claim a divine right to the narrative capacity of any brilliant craftsman.

A history of Nazism is the shit that is still a history of shit. A wonderful story that speaks of Nazism is still a wonderful story. Shit, do not have the same chemistry.

Yet these results did not lead to anything. There were still many readers who followed him and who were willing to keep reading so much other shit.

Two possibilities on the horizon for Vincent: let it go and focus on the potential of his writing or persuade the queen to go to Plan C. But the queen would never have supported this choice. Perhaps someone else, however, would be convinced. After all, a bit 'of terror would have shaken the real environment.

Vincent raised his helmet to chess and took off his helmet. He put the laptop on the floor. He rose from the sofa and went to the wall plastered the pictures of his enemy . He stretched his gaze to a picture that portrayed him with a smiling face. He put his hand next to the white face of his enemy .

"How much money have you fooled, eh? How many of you have pocketed my money? You've stolen the dream. You took my place. Should I be there for you. Me with my big novel, "Vincent shook the hand of the photo. The sides began to break away from the wall, the eyes of the enemy were lost in the palm of Vincent.

"You'll pay dearly. You pay with your buddies. This is the time of redemption. The time of redemption of the verb submerged and forgotten. Our words become weapons. Our words become meat. Our flesh will devour your flesh. You will be consumed, eaten and vomited. "

tore the pictures off the wall, rolling it.

He approached the small ball to his mouth and began to devour it.

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Nth rejection.

Nth rejection.

Nth rejection.

Vincent rubbed the letter and threw it away.

He rose from the couch closer to the dining room table. He took a folder and opened it. A photo and a sheet with instructions. A nickname, a fictional character, an author to be demolished, the names of other members of the group assault, strategies and techniques of manipulation.

All very simple.

Finally, the Queen had decided to move to phase two of the project. The demolition of the reputation and talent of the writers who do not write with dignity. The destruction of art of all those who do not respect the rules of the manual. The annihilation of those who are opposed to visual art, the image, what matters more than anything else in entertainment: the eye of art.

We will not tell mouths, which summarize, condense it, that will reduce our perceptions. We want other eyes to see, eyes that describe and explain, that leaves us the task of explaining what they show us. We want that our requirement is erga a universal law, that it becomes an indelible mark on the meat as art.

Show, do not tell.

The only technical and the only choice.

No chance of hybrids, no artistic freedom.

The shit is shit.

Vincent took the laptop and went to sit in the chair. I place the PC on the legs. He reached his left hand toward the floor, looking for something. An oblong black helmet with a visor chess. Put it on with amusement.

The show begins.

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shutters lowered to half prevented the light the sun to illuminate the interior of the room. Intrusive shadow stretched its line along the white walls.

Luana, surrounded by some chairs Plastics collapsible, moving back and forth, kicking his feet with subtle micro-movements. The his disciples seated in chairs awaiting instructions in silence.

memories of adolescence readings assailed his mind. The harassment of writers harassed every night. Pieces of metal dipped in ink on the cheap. Words deformed hands and stubby black, toothless adverbs, adjectives hot, morbid metaphors, similes like ice water.

Luana stopped. He folded the corners of the mouth upward. He opened the envelope in her hand. He took the photos, each of which had a note attached with staples. He walked toward the center of the circle. He looked into the eyes of everyone present. Future writer forged by the mark of the manual and technology.

"Now is the long awaited moment. You're in or out? "

Each of the disciples stood up saying" Inside, "and sat down at his feet.

Luana raised his hands up, stretching your fingers to hit something of the atmosphere semi-darkness of the room.

"Go, you know what to do."

The disciples got up and left in single file. A long tentacle began to meander out of the den.

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Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 1

Vincenzo clutched a cold beer, sitting on a chair in the living room. The television broadcast "power games" a new reality show, a format adapted to the Swedish context morally abject Italy.

"I can not believe it. We fell for them too. They also believe that can write "he told the empty room.

He took a sip.

"Shit!", Took the remote from under the seats and increase the volume.

" Many believe that we must have the knowledge to post. The classic recommendation sovereign overlooking our society at all levels. All bullshit, if you allow me the time. Who is able to obtain a contract with, say, a large publishing house, worked hard and hard for years for recognition of its value. "

"So she says that there are no recommendations in an absolute sense?"

"Certainly. It is obvious that in some cases, say, for there may be an exchange ... please? Favor? This is what is reprehensible. But make this a malpractice universal law, well I find, honestly an idiot. Unfortunately in this country, the habit becomes the unwritten law. Consequently, even the mental habits. "

Vincent bent his lips upward. He took another sip. "Funny!"

" My last book comes full circle. Originally, the story had come out in a single volume, but ... "

" The base money got the better ... " said Vincent.

turned off the TV and threw the remote on the floor. "Cursed magic box. A house for drug addicts. A safe place to peddle their ideas viral ".

Only Internet could function as an antidote. Unfortunately, the virus lies were infecting the network. And they were stronger because they had relationships with power.

He took another sip of beer. He put his hands on the long hair. He put the beer on the floor with his hands and shrugged his temples.

A letter of shiny metal. Small splashes of blood rotten at the base of the letter. A city. Small buildings. Flocks of crows. The tower. The black prison of his heart. Then everything becomes cumbersome. The tower gaping its foundations. The tip bends and twists bends to the left of the landscape. The buildings devour space. The walls. The terraces. The doors. A swarm of kids from the lips tightened the joker smiles burst forth like a river in flood. They tattooed on the forehead in the letter. Blood and metal. And he, Vincent, is at the center, surrounded. The crows swooping and their heads are transfigured. Have her face. The face of the writer of the letter. Red blood cola from his hands. Vincent looks down. He no longer has hands. The laughter of the crows invade his mind.

He rose from his chair, taking in an inner order . Only I know. I'm only aware of what causes his lies. Only I know the rot and horror. Only I carry it in my heart.

He went to the wall to his right. A series of photographs, hung with duct tape, decorated the wall. The writer of the nightmare that received awards. The writer of the nightmare in the foreground, smiling and satisfied. The writer nightmare in hand with his novel.

Vincent pulled a dart from the dartboard on the wall. He took a few steps back, took aim and shot. The arrow hit the target. The left hand of the writer of the nightmare.

"Hit! You have left little to write. Now the connection ".

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Andrea is disconnected. Lowered the monitor of the laptop and put his elbows on the desk. The hand on thinning hair. Baldness was doing his job. I looked out the window. A long stretch of mountains served as the backdrop to a small cluster of houses with red bricks and pitched roofs. This extensive line which constrain his vision had the power to feed his imagination. Beyond the mountains could be anything.

His art was a stubborn fight against the architectural barriers of nature and reality. He was the author, the agent of freedom, escape from prison. He was the author of amalgam, alchemy between chaos and order, between imagination and reality. He knew the truth.

Many, however, were not yet ready to implement his message, the ultimate meaning of the word transfigured in his works.

Andrea stood up and forcefully pushed his chair. A grinding noise invaded the solitude of his room.

The presentation of his latest novel was a devastating experience. The players, thousands of them, asked, demanded an explanation, asking questions, the hooker. Why this and because this one. Questioned him on the text!

The Messiah reads the word to the apostles, silent and obedient. His words in their minds and they come with a receptive mind and accept it and perceive the Truth. The ultimate meaning and origin of living things. Shit, so he had to go!

Fortunately there were still small group of intelligent and sensitive readers, who idolized and appreciated his work. A dying breed. Then there were the indifferent, the readers most of all admired, who I like , I do not like . One that leaves him free to express themselves.

The fight against the popular imagination it was a difficult and dangerous because new factor was added to the hostility of the readers. Perhaps this was due to hostilities by invading bloody and merciless of this new factor. The technical factor. The new Bible. The red text. Metaphor for the totalitarianism that you definitely wanted to bring the creativity of being human. Technical and market needs.

Every player wore on his right hand a manual technique. Read and write. Learned. It posed questions and find answers in the manual. Each player was efficient. Each player was writing.

could count them one by one. Crazy machines with their hands in manual. Machines with the crooked mouth screaming and gnashing of teeth, a dull metallic sound, which raised his arm up and threw this book against him. Then from the palm of the hand other hand gave birth to hurl against the writer. Repeating the gesture infinity.

However, the manuals had forgotten to bring a decisive element in alchemy: the talent.

A novel without talent is like a human being without a soul.

Andrea knew " There's a war taking place. Is this war affects us all. "

dragged the chair to his desk, picked up the monitor and the laptop connected to the network.

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Abstract

"Before the End" is a project work in progress.

A blog which will be published the first draft, without a ladder and a pre-existing structure, a hypothetical novel or novella on commission.

Each chapter of the novel, however, will be published with the right deal of attention in the editing stage.

first draft, then, in the sense that much more improvisation on plot and characters that are, in fact, work in progress . Unknown even to myself / a.

One thing is certain: the characters belong to the world of the network.

Why?

"Why is there a war in progress. Is this war affects us all. "

not assure you of punctual posting chapters, because it is a commission free in the meantime I have to earn my bread.

PS Do not promise answers to all comments due to time constraints.

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Every Tuesday from October 12 we start to priezione movie theme
barfly start with Steve Buscemi's follow
Tales of Ordinary Madness Marco Ferreri
COFFEE AND CIGARETTE Jim Jarmusch
Finally, the daisy by Pupi Avati

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CINEMERENDA



From October 10 every Sunday is a film dedicated to children and accompanied by bread, butter and jam
Start with UP
to follow WALL-E, Ratatouille
and ALICE IN WONDERLAND

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.. pencils ..

I took in 'borrowing' a picture of a magnificent wolf cagnolinadi name .. I wonder why his fellow humans have named ???.... am working on his portrait for 'tutorial', there are still some finishing touches, but it starts to come out ..

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latest work .. ..

this week I am dedicated to 'top up' a little ahead of the stock market to be held tomorrow (or in case of rain Sunday ..) in the furnaces of Barga (LU), at the festival .. rovella game at home is so close that I could go on foot, were it not for the table use which is very heavy and if Jonathan does not even bring his sculpture on display-table-spot ..
here a small overview of my production .. (sorry for the bad quality of photos, digital has left on foot and I made the phone ..)

a cat 'substantial' .. a swan, even this very large, a couple of squirrels that are in one hand,

and the latest news .. the hive!

.. below the house rules, read between the work of left-handed and clear here 'revised' version apin .. the bees are an example of collaboration or not? ??...^^

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ethnic dinners A "'L CONCASSER"

In collaboration with ARCI AVALON, ARCI group for tourism, will be periodically presented to the club several nations with dinner.

These dinners are by reservation.

The first state program in Hungary and its cuisine, to Thursday, October 14 21.00.

soon Spain and the United States.

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.. the beauty of life ..

. Today while coming down from the kennel appeared this: a double rainbow, spectacular, not just the rainbow but also for the two different shades of color of the sky! ... I took the opportunity to a photo because, once the main street I saw several cars waiting for a shot .. Fortunately we are still many people excited about things like that!

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Airedale terrier - pencil clay

a breed not very well known ..

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studying with pencils .. EVOLUTION

.. I have several technical books, sometimes I draw inspiration and I try .. try .. try again .. ^ ^

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.. ..

some time ago I happened up this stone, carved by wind, water and sand .. in a moment's pause between dogs, cats and other animals I have gone further and have made a leap forward several millennia ..

the leatherback turtle remains impassive and imperturbable observes the sequence of events, as is now the dawn of time ..

.. who possesses the elixir of life?

ps.quel remains of man vaguely reminiscent of the famous photo of Einstein ..

.. irreverent humor that is really the secret to go on??

pps.notare the bee-cat .. even an animal often individualistic as the cat has found that helping is better ..

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experiments .. more ..

.. this time a wolf ..

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experiments ..

these days I'm 'enjoying' a bit with the pencil of clay .. this is an experiment, Siamese cat with eyes painted in acrylic ..

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a couple of weeks ago a man who plays all the agricultural implements of the past brought me a very particular subject to paint: it is a 'tray', which was used to clean wheat or chestnut .. asked me to paint inside and outside, are left on the plots and here is the result ..
...... internal chestnuts ..

.. sorry .. I've never been able to paint an entirely .. death .. here's a hedgehog with a surprise ..: D

and a bee flew in my code ..

.. outside with a bunch of wheat as requested, but with the background landscape of summer ..

here and also a surprise 'living' .. a fox (the same gentleman I had made a huge stone up, it was a fine show of himself on a column of the fence but then stolen ..: / ..)

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the tray a bit of wood ..

this is the root that I used in 'ancestral' .. jonathan has finished, put the basis, the spotlight, (striking effect in the dark, but I could not take a picture presentable wanting ..:(..), there is also a coffee table (always made in jo ..)