At one point, after reaching the infancy of his impending old age, my good friend David Schoffman decided to collect a compendium of his earlier indiscretions, examine the sum of his comic misadventures (of which there were quite a few), and turn them all, (some might say redeem them) toward some good (dare I say, commercial) use. He felt the need to create some sort of spectacular Gesamtkunstwerk, an extravagant porridge of verse, painting, prose, music, monumental kinetic sculpture and massive, high definition video projection in order to capture the wide range of his experiences and the profound depth his feelings.
Instead he started a blog.
At first it was quite successful, even viral, if I may play upon the theme of pestilence. His short vignettes were full of charming aperçus, self-deprecating ironic observations and tentative conclusions that resembled earlier great essayists like Shestov, Van Yost, Hazlitt and Montaigne.
Then suddenly David went dark.
His essays, or to use the argot of current currency, his posts, became scurrilous streams of capricious vitriol, score-settling screeds of venomous, calumnous, even libelous invective and at times reached the depraved, rarefied point of menacing, thunderous intimidation.
Of course, that was the point when they started to become really entertaining.
But alas, it was all so short-lived. After several lifestyle adjustments such as intermittent acupunture, the banishment of lactose, gluten and lard, an aqua-cycling/yoga class and a strict eschewal of Russian literature, David went back to painting his puny, insignificant pictures with their lovely colors and their cheaply thrilling plays of light and illusion.
At first it was quite successful, even viral, if I may play upon the theme of pestilence. His short vignettes were full of charming aperçus, self-deprecating ironic observations and tentative conclusions that resembled earlier great essayists like Shestov, Van Yost, Hazlitt and Montaigne.
Then suddenly David went dark.
His essays, or to use the argot of current currency, his posts, became scurrilous streams of capricious vitriol, score-settling screeds of venomous, calumnous, even libelous invective and at times reached the depraved, rarefied point of menacing, thunderous intimidation.
Of course, that was the point when they started to become really entertaining.
But alas, it was all so short-lived. After several lifestyle adjustments such as intermittent acupunture, the banishment of lactose, gluten and lard, an aqua-cycling/yoga class and a strict eschewal of Russian literature, David went back to painting his puny, insignificant pictures with their lovely colors and their cheaply thrilling plays of light and illusion.
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