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This is me on my old street, in the center of New York.
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"I am a novelist. It's not about you. It's not about me. It's about the lie. The best lies are those where people have to..."
More about Dylan
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Messaging Off[Restricted to Dylan's friends] |
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Schools (Other):
university of michigan, hunter college, mona shores high school, lincoln park elementary, pinecrest elementary
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College/University:
University of Michigan - Ann Arbor, Attended 1997 - 2003, Class of 2003, Bachelor's Degree, Creative Writing
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Occupation:
writer/songwriter/professor/student/rock star
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Affiliations:
alcoholics anonymous, owen co-op, NELP
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Hobbies and Interests:
myself
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Favorite Books:
whatever I'm writing, or my friends are writing, or my teachers are writing, or my students are writing. between all those pieces, i don't have time for pleasure reading and would rather spend my downtime listening to music.
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Favorite Movies:
i don't go to movies by myself so i rarely go to movies. i've seen most of the right ones and some of those that are so wrong that they're right, but i'm looking forward to having a lover if only so there's always someone to sit next to me when i bother to make it to the theater.
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Favorite Music:
you probably haven't heard of it. and if you haven't heard of it i'm not going to bother to introduce it to you. but if you have heard of it we should talk. you know which bands I'm talking about, and if you don't you don't know me well enough to be my friend anyway.
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Favorite TV Shows:
if you have time for television you bore me.
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About Me:
I am a novelist. It's not about you. It's not about me. It's about the lie. The best lies are those where people have to ask you, did that happen? Was that real? And they don't know the difference. This is when I've done the work. This is fiction at its best. You can ridicule my subject matter all you want, say there are too many books in the world about writers who live in New York, and I wouldn't tell you where to stick it. I would ask you to spend five minutes studying my craft on the level of the sentence. You might get the impression that I think highly of my writing. Only because I've always been told to think as much by every one who I've ever studied under. Peter Carey. Kathryn Harrison. Colson Whitehead. Andrew Sean Greer. These are novelists. I also write songs for the best damn band on the planet. We will conquer the world one word and one note at a time. I front this band and we love each other and you will love us when you hear of us, and you will. Trust me, you will. Lyrics are the easy part. They come unbidden, like a teenage prom date. Music comes, too, later, like that girl who really makes you earn it. And I'm working on the screenplay to the film of the novel I just finished, which I hope to star in. Not that I'm an actor, but if Eminem and 50 Cent can play themselves, what's stopping me? I have enough ambition for you and me and my enitre extended family. So if you know me, or you want to know me, just wait, and read all about it when it gets published, buy the album when it drops, see the movie when it premieres. My story is large enough for all three and anyone who says they're humble is a bad liar, not a good liar like me.
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Who I Want to Meet:
Dostoevsky hired a stenographer who became his wife and he never would have written the greatest novels of his life without her. I don't need a muse. I've had enough of them for a lifetime. I need a stenographer.
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See results for Dylan Brock
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fierce, fucking disgusting depth of sick
and cock-dangling depravity quite well.
Exploring the recesses of your dark
mind Dylan, what do you see? Do you
see ex-fiancees? Do you see camp
councelors in showers, heated water
dripping from their smooth, pink, soccer-
instructing forms like saliva from a
seizing hobo, causing the whole bus to
stare, heroes whipping out cellphones
like so many gleaming blades of killer
samurais? Or do so see my massive
fucking cock rearing like a fucking fire-
maned Arabian colt, unleashed,
unreigned, bridle in a smoking heap on a
bale of blackened hay, spewing hot lava,
wiping out Tyrannosaurs like Romans in
a scathing mud slide? Is that what you
see Dylan? Huh? Is that what you see?
Well, it's what I see, and I hope my cock
takes up as much room in all heads as it
does in my silken, brown trousers. Dylan
shoots lasers from his eyes and fire from
a diesel johnson. A king among men,
the world cries out "D" in abje
than you.
THERE, I said it.
smart. But it's not really the brains that
fascinate me with Mr. Brock Hudson
James whatever long ass pretentious
name that he has to make him sound
like he belongs on a yacht...its his
neurosis and his perpetual quest for
great art *wink wink* I wish I could say
something horrid or fabulous about the
kid, but all I can come up with is that
Dylan is just a-okay in my book
repartee and coffeehouse vocals...your
lyrics made me more aware of the
beauty of neuroses, and helped me to
embrace my own. Dylan, the next time
I'm in Brooklyn, I hope to see you in
top form at a local dive (maybe
Galapagos?). I wish you all the best
in the City of Writers. Maybe we can
work out an exchange program whereby
you send me an erudite, dark-haired
New Yorker in return for a clueless,
flaxen Angeleno.
date...himself. sorry, ladies.
his unreachable perfect testimonial,
which unknown to him doesn't really
exist anywhere in nature) it's true
dylan's interests are mainly himself,
but isn't that true for us all, except
when you fall deeply in love, and then
you are a sucker, which maybe dylan
has been sometimes, but I think his
one true love is out there still,
someone he can write loads of songs
about...and maybe a novel or two...
but first the world. god speed dylan.