Self and reality. Symbol and language. Myth and image. Memory and consciousness.
Dream and unreality: locus communis.

Saturday, January 27, 2018

Continuous Whining

This week is a repetition of last week. And the week before. A perpetual cycle of negation. As I have already mentioned, it keeps proving harder and harder to find an alternative voice, to sort out a different persona for narration of experience--one other than my own. That habitual, personal cliche. That well-worn complaint.

It all comes down to the fact I have fallen out of my usual writing patterns. My usual ebb and flow of words. Too many distractions. Conflictions and obstacles. Mixed emotions. The fan buzzes overhead--managing to shift my attention span, cause a broad range of sleepiness, soft drone of electricity. As a purring. A pulse. Or your fingers slipping across my shoulders.

Even the fragmented imagery fractures in furious, odd patterns, out of sync with my primary intentions. The rhythm I mean is breaking lines into irregular, nonsensical phrases that do not relate to one another directly.

End result: feel the need for insistent, continuous whining.

Saturday, January 13, 2018

Without True Cohesion

New ideas were slow in formation this week. Selfdoubt still plagues even now after so much personal development of style and achievements with writing over the past few years.

Furthermore, a damn popsong keeps filtering through my head, throwing my concentration off from my warm room project—the song’s meter mangles the sought-out rhythms and harmony for the verse, altering the patterns I want to use— makes my words clutter, fall offkey, falter.

Adding to my frustration: I cannot bend the poem to suit the selected persona—his voice runs counter to my own: confident, angry, rebellious, defiant, hints of respect (when he feels it is earned) … everything I develop for this new voice, for this personality crumbles into further unnecessary fractures without a sense of connections, without true cohesion… the poem inches forward, when once it galloped…

Probable Manuscript Titles
• 1913
• 1913: The Warm Room
• Warm Room, Open Window, Unmade Bed
• the unmade bed translated
• river/fractured
• fracture(s)
• suspended world
• remains of an uncalm world
• the wild green outside
• nervous rookery

Saturday, January 6, 2018


Midweek I gained the perfect idea for revving up this sleeping blog—but within a few hours, distractions erased any beginning phrases and paragraphs. I even weeded out the back garden, cleared out dead sabers of sleeping irises, all in the hopes of charging up a new idea, a casual commentary for development.


The blank page stares back: a grass field frosted over, trapped in a limbo, a paralysis of expectation.

What do the following items have in common?

• lit match / unlit match
• crumbs of bread loaf
• radio static
• quoted line from Chaucer, stripped from a notebook
• slow ache along the lower back
• open book
• closed book
• unread newspaper
• hands cusped near your face