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

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