If you were forced to choose between surrendering your first-born to a demon Rumpelstiltskin, or never listening to the dulcet tones of The Decemberists again, which would you choose? What if you were allowed to keep both, but transformed into Old Gregg if you decided you couldn't live without Colin/your progeny? THINK ABOUT IT.
I would definitely give up my first born. I won’t be using it.
I noticed a peculiar thing today. There is a painting of the old Oneonta Roundhouse (it was the largest in the world in its day) in the entrance to the walkway to the parking garage, painted by a local artist. The funny thing is that unlike every other piece of art, advertisement, expression, &c. that one usually finds in public, there wasn’t an ounce of graffiti on it. Yes, the black paint of the margin around the frame was inscribed with the usual crude professions of love and territorial markings, but the painting itself wasn’t touched. Maybe it’s the influence of Orwell’s dismal portrait of London from Keep the Aspidistra Flying, or perhaps the starving, analytical writer I keep caged inside me is trying to make another escape. But this small act of kindness, the apathetic preservation of a small-town artist’s depiction of what made this town what it is (rather, what it was), made made me think. Maybe Oneonta isn’t that terrible.
I’m not entirely sure where I was going with this anecdote, but you know the deal: leading leads to thinking, thinking leads to writing.