The Roof and Your Grandfather's Head
I don't even know where to start on what the hell this peice of writing means. Just read, and keep in mind that the repetition of some words is there on purpose. So if you plan on correcting it, don't mention that. I know, and that is how I like it.
The house on Milton Street is pretty. That’s the first word that comes to mind. It isn’t really grand, or charming. Just pretty, in the conventional way. Things never really are anything but silly words, such as pretty, unless you have a story behind them. So when one looks at this house on Milton Street, it takes the breath away from you. But then again, probably only if you have been inside, if you have seen the people who live in this house on Milton Street. It is snowing, and it gathers on the slanted roof. Gathers like something old. Well, like you might assume snow would gather on your grandfather’s head. Like that. Exactly like that.
But if one cant imagine what snow would look like as it gathers on the head of their grandfather, who they never met, or never saw in snow, or don’t remember, then one cannot understand the rest of the story. Because the things that happen here don’t make sense. Like it doesn’t make sense to compare snow on a roof to your dead, or never seen, grandfather. Or even to the one you saw last Christmas in Chicago. The roof on the house on Milton Street doesn’t look like a head, with its high roof, and its two pyramids of iced over shingles. It looks like a roof. So one should not ever really be asked to imagine it like a head. But it is that, right there, that makes all the difference. If I told you that the house on Milton Street is pretty, you wouldn’t care. It’s just a house anyways. Just a pretty house on Milton Street. But to the people who live in it, it is something else entirely. And to one who has imagined its slanting roofs, gathering snow like atop their grandfather’s head, it has new meaning. Not because it changes the way that you view the house, because it seems unlikely that one would suddenly see it in the shape of their grandfathers head. But because the association one would now have with this house, would be unique and extraordinary. That’s how the world works, and how descriptions work, and how this story works. It will end up the way it ends up, because that’s the way it ends up. But the only thing one gets the chance to decide on is how they will feel about how the story unfolds. And that is what makes all the difference
The house on Milton Street is pretty. That’s the first word that comes to mind. It isn’t really grand, or charming. Just pretty, in the conventional way. Things never really are anything but silly words, such as pretty, unless you have a story behind them. So when one looks at this house on Milton Street, it takes the breath away from you. But then again, probably only if you have been inside, if you have seen the people who live in this house on Milton Street. It is snowing, and it gathers on the slanted roof. Gathers like something old. Well, like you might assume snow would gather on your grandfather’s head. Like that. Exactly like that.
But if one cant imagine what snow would look like as it gathers on the head of their grandfather, who they never met, or never saw in snow, or don’t remember, then one cannot understand the rest of the story. Because the things that happen here don’t make sense. Like it doesn’t make sense to compare snow on a roof to your dead, or never seen, grandfather. Or even to the one you saw last Christmas in Chicago. The roof on the house on Milton Street doesn’t look like a head, with its high roof, and its two pyramids of iced over shingles. It looks like a roof. So one should not ever really be asked to imagine it like a head. But it is that, right there, that makes all the difference. If I told you that the house on Milton Street is pretty, you wouldn’t care. It’s just a house anyways. Just a pretty house on Milton Street. But to the people who live in it, it is something else entirely. And to one who has imagined its slanting roofs, gathering snow like atop their grandfather’s head, it has new meaning. Not because it changes the way that you view the house, because it seems unlikely that one would suddenly see it in the shape of their grandfathers head. But because the association one would now have with this house, would be unique and extraordinary. That’s how the world works, and how descriptions work, and how this story works. It will end up the way it ends up, because that’s the way it ends up. But the only thing one gets the chance to decide on is how they will feel about how the story unfolds. And that is what makes all the difference
posted by Anonymous Bitch at 12:22 AM
1 Comments:
What a great site, how do you build such a cool site, its excellent.
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