“Click the Blog titles below to expand the Musings” ~PSegalProust
I was on page six of Knausgaard’s last book of the series, My Struggle, when I saw the first mention of Proust. Of course, I thought. Of course. There would be many mentions of Proust. It rolled over me in a wave of comprehension: Knausgaard has done exactly what Proust did, if certainly differently, nearly… Continue reading Karl Ove Knausgaard: A Proustie for Our Times
Recently, I’ve been thinking about writing, and how essential writers are to the knowledge of everything. Authors produce almost all sources of information, in one way or another. Books, textbooks, magazines, websites, and other written materials were produced by writers. Maybe a person doesn’t really read, and they get their information from lectures, news, documentaries,… Continue reading Let’s Talk About Writers
My esteemed friend, the remarkable, mega-Dada Dr. Really?, decided I needed a website to make Proust Said That readily available to the public—all ten issues are on this site— and to give me a forum for my incessant musings. This is actually his site, as much as mine, and I never know what will show… Continue reading Introducing: the One and Only Dr. Really?
Moving is a life-changing event, as Proust and I both attest. In the last few months, I’ve moved from a 2100 square foot flat in the North of Panhandle district, that I lived in for 17 years, to a 12 x 14 foot room, with 90% of the belongings (that I kept) stored in an… Continue reading Moving
Ever since the gold rush, San Francisco has enticed writers. They couldn’t resist its intoxicating beauty, frequent liberties, and the fantasy of sudden fortune—a writer’s most cherished pipe dream— of the boom town on the bay. Between the gold—and subsequent silver—booms and the tech boom, there were decades when all San Francisco had going for… Continue reading Writers and The Changing City
Dr. Really? and I are are cavorting in Proust’s Living room. We’re enjoying cups of tea and cookies.
The caravan of ill-assorted vehicles assembled at the baseball diamond in Golden Gate Park as a late-summer dusk promised a fine night for entering the unknown. As always, when a Cacophony Society Zone Trip called adventurers to leave San Francisco, the stragglers came late, and the last-minute preparations detained us further.
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