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EnduranceWriter
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ENDURANCEWRITER

AKA Damon Arvid. Under-the-radar writer, musician. Let's keep it that way. The cloud novels and other highlights are being collected at DamonArvid.com. To access all the music and Avocado Sun, click the big black box below.

Fabric - Summon These Days (Music)

Quips - Isn’t and Isms Edition

6/3/2016

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The thing I respond to least positively about Trump is that he is committed to making America great at the expense of everything climate science has taught us over the past 30 years. And social science.

I wonder if quality of beer affects who they vote for? #craftbeer 

I foresaw tronc-like developments, but I did not think that the Chicago Tribune of all papers would become tronc so quickly and decisively. As it stands, tribune online content is a “content curation and monetization company focused on creating and distributing premium, verified content across all channels.” 

Sounds exciting and something I would want to get into as a creative spirit. But no, what it really speaks of is a more aggressive focus on SEO and targeted demographics. The caging of the creative soul. The stylebook that gets to the top of Google and to eyeballs (I blame Hemingway. He started this).

Stats are everything that I am against as a writer, unless it has to do with knowing how well I am sharing my humor, concerns, weaknesses, and vision with friends and fellow travelers.

I’ve been thinking it’s time to get a new camera. It really is, the likelihood of it going missing as great as it is. I have so many interesting images of Dumaguete framed in my mind and no photographic evidence. How to describe fabric by words alone? Well, that is where the art comes in. 

This is a paragraph I am particularly proud of in Ari Park 1.21 - David & the Two Heavies, coming very soon: 

Reaching the front door, David shuttled the safety lock into place with premonition. He opened two inches… straight into the flat, not inexpressive, eyes of the man from the car.  His adversary’s deep-centered movement against the bulk of the door was like heavy waves against broadside timbers, the chain pulling taut and straining at multiple pressure points. Throughout the length of stressed brass rings, the older man’s eyes were steely, his nose bent, the reek of cigarettes oppressive––broadcasting fixation on getting in by any means necessary. There was a message to his movements, and in his unwillingness to engage in conversation, that did not need any translation––once the chain broke, David was toast.

​#endwriter
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    Damon Arvid

    Author of Arisugawa Park. Fabric. Life.

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