Feynman was an artist and he knew Mandarin and he kept his time for himself. Did you know that Maggie gave me a book with a series of lectures by Feynman? Sometimes I wonder how it is that I haven't read and re-read everything that he's written and or said but I suppose that one authorial obsession a year is probably enough. Besides, I've got this whole book on the Herald Tribune to read. Someday. Maybe. Maybe not.
My writing is shit but I don't give a damn. Do you give a damn? I'm not sure if Feynman gave a damn. I think it's one of those things where giving a damn is relational to who you're talking to, you know. I mean, what does it mean to care really. What if I know the answer to this question but I don't care enough to tell you.
Or maybe I care, too much.
My writing is shit but I'm ok with that. Sometimes I look back on what I've been up to, writing wise, and I realize that I used to write better. Or at least, more formally. And the quality of my ideas isn't necessarily improving, if anything they're less eluciditory. Or so it feels.
Feynman was probably never a shitty writer. I bet he always just wrote what he felt needed to be written. The next, logical thing that came to mind. Or at least, the one that made the most sense at the time.
Post a Comment