A Defined Path Always Seems to be my Priority

Despite the level of mundane roots spreading distractions throughout my limited, scheduled freetime—I managed to develop a running list of fractured themes, phrases of thought, ideas for future possibilities. That is, simply a scattering of words. • Scarlatti is on the radio. An empty coffee cup in hand. Outside a light rain falls. Autumnal environment. An overwhelming sense of absence sits in my lap. As if I were seeking something more profound to say, rather than random thoughts. Daily meditations. • Perhaps it is the caffeine.• Developing a clear path, a defined path seems to always be my priority. And I am a person who hates formulas, templates. Look at it in this fashion: I create boundaries in order to rearrange them or erase lines to later reshape territories. • Shards of lines later become poems. • 8, 760 lines = 365 days X 24 hours
4,380 lines = 365 days X 12 hours • Starting November, the scattered words will be collected in rough order. Let’s call it a continuous poem, a visual metaphor of language. If played carefully, the material will display itself in a limitation of a year— similar to the 365 Haiku project from last few years. • I want to see how far such an abundance of phrases can pour themselves out, overflow the page. How far a collage of themes can be pulled out of a common source.