The great thing about irony is that it splits things apart, gets up above them so we can see the flaws and hypocrisies and duplicates.
It seems important to find ways of reminding ourselves that most 'familiarity' is meditated and delusive.
This might be one way to start talking about differences between the early postmodern writers of the fifties and sixties and their contemporary descendants.
I think TV promulgates the idea that good art is just art which makes people like and depend on the vehicle that brings them the art.
One of the things that makes Wittgenstein a real artist to me is that he realized that no conclusion could be more horrible than solipsism.
The interesting thing is why we're so desperate for this anesthetic against loneliness.
Fiction's about what it is to be a human being.
I just think that fiction that isn't exploring what it means to be human today isn't art.
For these cultures, getting rid of the pain without addressing the deeper cause would be like shutting off a fire alarm while the fire's still going.
It looks like you can write a minimalist piece without much bleeding. And you can. But not a good one.
The problem is that once the rules of art are debunked, and once the unpleasant realities the irony diagnoses are revealed and diagnosed, 'then' what do we do?
I often think I can see it in myself and in other young writers, this desperate desire to please coupled with a kind of hostility to the reader.
It can become an exercise in trying to get the reader to like and admire you instead of an exercise in creative art.
The other half is to dramatize the fact that we still 'are' human beings, now. Or can be.
The reader becomes God, for all textual purposes. I see your eyes glazing over, so I'll hush.
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