Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Five Years Ago Today
I never did get back to my pile of Harper’s. There is already an accumulation of drawings and letters on top, along with a folder containing notes on the Armenian translations of some of my stories, and even a package of colored pencils. I had meant to read the short story in each issue, but the stories I did read made it difficult to continue. Now I no longer care — which means I should probably take the magazines to the library and leave them in the free magazine area for someone who does care, or who thinks he cares, or who once cared and is thinking about caring again, fearing that if he doesn’t he might be unable to care when his caring is needed the most — though in my humble opinion Harper’s isn’t worth such a crisis of conscience, or even a trip to the library. I say this at the risk of sounding ignorant, because everyone knows Harper’s is a highly intellectual magazine full of progressive ideas and wry commentary. No wonder they lost me. I have enough trouble putting on my socks. What do socks have to do with the subject? Nothing at all. Is Harper’s interested in my socks? No. Of course not. What I need is a magazine that caters to people who have trouble putting on their socks. A magazine that cares about me. A magazine for the common man, attempting common things and failing miserably. A magazine for people who are confused to begin with, and who then go on to lose their train of thought. Anyway. Where was I?
From One Hand Clapping, a daily journal in two volumes.
In the Forum: roll out the barrel.