TOO MUCH INTERNET PORN (OR NOT ENOUGH?)

Hot damn! It's been a few fortnights or what-have-you since I've been to my own blog (as I am sure I am writing this for myself...I will be candid, frank, and sincere).
Movin' on.
This medium of the blog as a gallery for writers work or anything written is unique and only time will tell how far the blog will go towards replacing the evil empire that is publishing--let's face it, as writers of course, we are at the bottom when it comes to "art"(or down there with the painters and other individual arts) . There is no money in writing. Writing is an art and as all art forms there is no motivation to create that comes from the thought of being rewarded with the key to the mint. I am not complaining but only reminding myself of where I stand through the written text as a form of reinforcement.
I haven't read much in a while. The last book I read was a collection of short stories by John Fante The Hunger. I was hoping this blog would attract somebodies attention so as to have some discourse regarding literature as well as the craft of writing("the craft of writing"--I hate this term. It sounds like something I would do when I'm knee deep in a grave wearing a diaper but...)
This is the only writing I have done in weeks. No poetry. No attempts at song writing. Nothing. If I ever write anything it will be in a burst and not over a period of time. I am not the type of writer that wakes up at five in the morn, sips tea, and pets their cat in their breakfast nook before heading over to the typewriter. My life is not that routine and any attempt to make it routine would only end up in further malaise. Bukowski wrote something to the point that writing comes from the gut and unless there is a fire begging to be doused with ink then forget about it--which is why he probably did a lot of poetry, seeing that a book would take more of a torrent than a brush fire.

If anyone has any books they would like to suggest for this month's reading please e-mail me at krumlaughs@aol.com.

Arthur Wood