0230 by Jeff Hess
Found in my electronic chapbook.
If language and writing grow out of a biological system for attempting to fill needs, then the notion of self-expression, so often invoked vaguely to explain the artistic urge, can be better understood. Self-expression is not simply a broadcasting of personal characteristics or tastes. It is generally, if subliminally, much more goal directed than that. Educators often justify art courses and creative writing courses on the grounds that self-expression can teach students about themselves. That may be true to some extent, but many creative writers have been quite capable of powerfully emotive writing while lacking insight into the internal conflicts that drive their suffering. While they may not gain insight, they still gain a sense of relief – and a sympathetic audience. p. 205
From The Midnight Disease: The Drive to Write, Writer”s Block and the Creative Brain by Alice W. Flaherty.
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2030 by Jeff Hess
I could never bring myself to forward all the email jokes, cartoons and other Internet comedy that land in my inbox. But then I started posting the ones my dad sends me. Judging from my comments and emails, my dad has become one of my greatest blogging assets. So for your evening blog chuckle I present: From My Dad.
A man goes to see the Rabbi. “Rabbi, something terrible is happening and I have to talk to you about it.”
The Rabbi asked, “What’s wrong?”
The man replied, “My wife is poisoning me.”
The Rabbi, very surprised by this, asks, “How can that be?”
The man then pleads, “I’m telling you, I’m certain she’s poisoning me. What should I do?”
The Rabbi then offers, “Tell you what. Let me talk to her. I’ll see what I can find out and I’ll let you know. A week later the Rabbi calls the man and says. “I spoke to your wife, spoke to her on the phone for three hours. You want my advice?”
The man said yes, and the Rabbi replied, “Take the poison.”
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0230 by Jeff Hess
Found in my electronic chapbook.
I no longer know whether it is my children that I long for, or my sorrow. I have an irrational belief, left over from my sensible past, that if I tell enough people about this knot that is always pulled tight, someone somewhere will be able to loosen it. But my new self needs it always to be pulled tight. I don”t write to forget what happened; I write to remember. There are worse things in life than painful desire; one them is to have no desire. p. 205
From The Midnight Disease: The Drive to Write, Writer”s Block and the Creative Brain by Alice W. Flaherty.
Posted in Chapbook | No Comments »
2030 by Jeff Hess
I could never bring myself to forward all the email jokes, cartoons and other Internet comedy that land in my inbox. But then I started posting the ones my dad sends me. Judging from my comments and emails, my dad has become one of my greatest blogging assets. So for your evening blog chuckle I present: From My Dad.
Smith climbs to the top of Mt. Sinai to get close enough to talk to God. Looking up, he asks the Lord, ” God, what does a million years mean to you?”
The Lord replies, “A minute.”
Smith asks, “And what does a million dollars mean to you?”
The Lord replies, “A penny.”
Smith asks, “Can I have a penny?”
The Lord replies, “In a minute.”
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0230 by Jeff Hess
Found in my electronic chapbook.
A pen can be a scalpel too. p. 205
From The Midnight Disease: The Drive to Write, Writer”s Block and the Creative Brain by Alice W. Flaherty.
Posted in Chapbook | No Comments »
2030 by Jeff Hess
I could never bring myself to forward all the email jokes, cartoons and other Internet comedy that land in my inbox. But then I started posting the ones my dad sends me. Judging from my comments and emails, my dad has become one of my greatest blogging assets. So for your evening blog chuckle I present: From My Dad.
Three friends from the local congregation were asked, “When you’re in your casket, and friends and congregation members are mourning over you, what would you like them to say?”
Artie said, “I would like them to say I was a wonderful husband, a fine spiritual leader, and a great family man.”
Merle commented, “I would like them to say I was a wonderful teacher and servant of God who made a huge difference in peoples lives.”
Don said, “I’d like them to say, ‘Look! He’s moving!'”
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0230 by Jeff Hess
Found in my electronic chapbook.
Is it too reductionist, then, to suggest that a major reason for creative writing is an abstract version of the same biological urge that causes you to cry out in sorrow or anger? p. 203
From The Midnight Disease: The Drive to Write, Writer”s Block and the Creative Brain by Alice W. Flaherty.
Posted in Chapbook | No Comments »
2030 by Jeff Hess
I could never bring myself to forward all the email jokes, cartoons and other Internet comedy that land in my inbox. But then I started posting the ones my dad sends me. Judging from my comments and emails, my dad has become one of my greatest blogging assets. So for your evening blog chuckle I present: From My Dad.
Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should get used to the idea.
Posted in From My Dad, Humor | No Comments »
0230 by Jeff Hess
Found in my electronic chapbook.
The neurologist V.S. Ramachandran explains amused laughter as a primate false-alarm call, a revocation of the need for assistance. If someone in your tribe slips on a banana peel and breaks a leg, no one laughs. But if he slips and gets up immediately, there is laughter – at least if you are a monkey, or a human with a taste for slapstick. p. 203
From The Midnight Disease: The Drive to Write, Writer”s Block and the Creative Brain by Alice W. Flaherty.
Posted in Chapbook | No Comments »
2030 by Jeff Hess
I could never bring myself to forward all the email jokes, cartoons and other Internet comedy that land in my inbox. But then I started posting the ones my dad sends me. Judging from my comments and emails, my dad has become one of my greatest blogging assets. So for your evening blog chuckle I present: From My Dad.
All eyes were on the radiant bride as her father escorted her down the aisle. They reached the altar and the waiting groom; the bride kissed her father and placed something in his hand. The guests in the front pews responded with ripples of laughter. Even the priest smiled broadly. As her father gave her away in marriage, the bride gave him back his credit card.
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