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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