The writer types types.
And typos! The darling little typos! Bambinos!
I had a crisis this morning and thought (as I typed my typos)
There are no people! Only types.
The interesting woman has only three choices in men:
The dullard. Boring, boring, boring. No way.
The braggart. No way.
The weirdo. Interesting, but cannot be bragged about: eccentric, not publicly accomplished.
If the weirdo is cute enough in his weirdness and not too weird in a threatening or excessively weird manner,
She may go that way, and give this weirdo her love.
But this doesn’t seem particularly fair to women.
What kind of choice do they have?
The world is not a nice place for women.
But obviously, the lesson is:
Types are the only thing shown.
And the only type which has any validity is you.
Writers type types.
Writers attempt to make types interesting and beautiful.
Writers are trapped in types as they type
Even as they try to escape them.
This is what I am desperately trying to do
As I type these types (without typos) for you.
