“On Monday morning, Paxton was woken at five from a claustrophobic, anxious sleep by the weight of his worry. After disentangling himself from the sweaty unwelcome embrace of his patchwork quilt, he padded over to his bedroom window and pressed his nose forlornly against the glass. The sky was clear and dark and sparkling – there was, as yet, no sign of the sun.”
Jo (who I won’t link coz she hasn’t updated since March; maybe it’s just me, but I think her blog’s dead) told me the other week that my posts had become very cryptic this year.
I knew what she meant. But at the same time I was kind of bemused.
My posts have always been very cryptic. Sometimes they’ve been so cryptic that I didn’t even get them properly myself until ages afterwards.
This one here is a perfect example. I’m really not at all sure why I’m writing this – but I just know I’ll look at it in four months time, or in 2012, or whenever, and go “Ah, I see!! Ingenious, Teigs.”
Brains are funny.
Braaaiins.
I – which is to say, a close personal friend of mine – keeps getting sent zombie invitations on Facebook.
I don’t know what that’s about either.
Writing cryptic blog posts in the perfect excuse to tell others that they just don’t understand your art when really nothing of value was written.
I feel that we both excel in this department.
I’m trying to think of a response which conveys the superficial impression that I agree with you, whilst privately being pleased by the knowledge that Really, You Just Don’t Get It – which is good and what I want, coz it plays right into my hands.
Don’t think this is it, though.