Interesting. I was thinking about you when I wrote this story (linked below), was even going to reference you as someone who has the exact opposite effect from coffee. Now, I’m not so sure. Like others who have commented, I have no idea what you’re talking about, being “curated”. Pound’s words are always present for me:
Beneath the sagging roof
The stylist has taken shelter,
Unpaid, uncelebrated,
At last from the world’s welter
Nature receives him,
With a placid and uneducated mistress
He exercises his talents
And the soil meets his distress.
What I’m saying is you’re a small happy place for me, and others. Don’t go there, the “real” world of business and commerce. I for one view your pieces to get AWAY from that stuff. We all have our frustrations.
Or Auden, on Yates,
You were silly like us; your gift survived it all:
The parish of rich women, physical decay,
Yourself. Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry.
Now Ireland has her madness and her weather still,
For poetry makes nothing happen: it survives
In the valley of its making where executives
Would never want to tamper, flows on south
From ranches of isolation and the busy griefs,
Raw towns that we believe and die in; it survives,
A way of happening, a mouth.
If none of that makes a difference, then my current life after coffee. Maybe you should try it?
