I continue exercising, respecting the alphabetical order.
Absurdities claustrophobic / My mother was hipster
Life is made of coincidences and chance, none dare call sometimes, in moments of distress or weakness, "destiny", the young blogger signing mysteriously "My mother" seeks to describe with candor mixed these fleeting moments of lucidity synchronism of recognitions, which seem, more often than not, turn the absurd apparent sign advisement. The search for meaning is here in the heart of a process, not reducible to a simple experience of the spiritual or the divine, but which arises from a questioning nature overtly ontological: the who am I? where the am I going? characteristics are somehow transposed materialized, in a process of reification (?) links (esoteric? holistic?) that form between different factors, although it does remain irreconcilable, come to form a tableau vivant , moving, where individuals, circumstances, events intertwine, intermingle and collide.
"My mother" is not fooled. She understands the difference between show and tell between explain and clarify , she loves to swing (and thus throw the reader) on the fine line between a significant near the uncanny and too full of meaning that would harm the demonstration. There is a real question mark in it, first personal, then contagious, the secret operation (in the sense of unexplained, inexplicable) of life and what it creates , it seems, outside a free will that is not to deny, however. For is it not free will itself is ably more complex prose, imbuing him this quality player, fickle, making it ambiguous and thereby reduced to a simple admission of failure before this famous absurdity surrounding ? Yes, it's him. For
prose is playful, light, evidenced by this propensity for short sentence, quasi-metric, with constant section, return to the line that avoids the heaviness of paragraph (some people have an unfortunate tendency to focus) the phonetics of spoken language sometimes outrageous. The lines follow each other in a frantic pace, feeling catalyst text, in a perfect harmony between form and content. The "nonsense" told at "Mother", beyond their existential interests, their potential reflexive tumble literally on the screen background dark gray, forcing readers to constantly keep your finger on the wheel of his mouse down over the short to long and strangely both a plot almost always pleasurable, culminating in the discovery of ever-changing these "labels" she loves ridiculously tasty choice.
I got on the blog "Absurdities claustrophobic" through the other space that it maintains a regular basis, where she portrays a different facet of his personality web, that of cultural criticism: "My mother was hipster. " Of course, the approach is completely different, the writer, designer, it is more unassuming, more sedate. It includes the latest musical, literary, cinematic "My mother," noted, auctioned, sold. From the forgotten classic gem, she signs thoughtful critiques and sober almost daily, taking time to being fascinated by the same newspaper on "Absurdities claustrophobic.
forward, from there, that basically there is little difference between these two approaches, they are two sides of same coin brightest, there is only one step: they participate indeed a wonder even face life and what it has to offer. This is to listen.
-An appreciation of Clarence Inspector
Saint-Henri, 1 February 2011
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