New poem. New poem called Peaches I think is massively sellable?! Also Match or Patch. End needs little more work on Peach. Last stanza is old, meaning feels reflexive. Try to get on that by Monday. OH TIME.
Working on new Tru Con piece called Time Won’t Let Me. Its online but only a draft with unfinished thoughts and typos.
Need to make space to trace (without devolving into anarchy) “moving multitude of forms … flitting and passing beneath shades” of (garden) space for fiction to really embrace. How I embrace that space – changes everything?
Have Sisyphus tons started for Camus to Zizek. Dropped reading french on 2nd time through and am marking the book up. With glee rally.
Poems in background are oiling spoiling tendentious – watching it melt. Trying to transfer Negativity of La Chute where Horror knelt (thats not personal to anyone, comes out of what lately call: my scarlet origins) to Collectivity of the Commons or something.
Something of me remains entangled, in vegetable violent roots of atrocious garden as if plants will themselves into being abstruse – heh. Heh.
I used to call it Emmys garden but that got trashed.
For in part they have my mouth to fire. Thresholds are always a problem. Require change. Dreams after dreams that I could.
And then Sisyphus bulls it out from under again. Not totally sure I can. My underground man – is who?
Its not just the “guards” who are fool “champion”? Also somehow Violet Leduc begins to enter into it, hmm. whose book is called: The (kind of nutty) Bastard. She was born “illegit” and without connection hers was a groundbreaking book. Movie portrays her as kind of wild and annoying but def in part genuine. In the end you pulled for her – She chased after the philosophers too. But wrote fiction.
I am happily halfway housed at lovely Parsons. Job helps stabilize the Pollys for a cracker. In a way that could not happen if I were unable to on some level control the output —
I tell everybody there too. And receive encouragement. So far, across the board. Have worked hard to create an envelope for them that guards the larks from foraging too much negativism –
Adopting Irish methods for dealing with Irish things. Leap of faith as registration from St. Brig. for entering swamp with searchlight looking for Frank.
Then goes out about demanding someone tie a rope around methodology which is stretchy. All falls in – So off to St. Brigid to talk Indian. Though getting a touch out in tannery is just as good and bad as ever.
Char who is a sweeper, a bottom sweeper even which refers to what image: wearing a hose at oceans bottom collecting abyssal creatures whose poisons are calendared, and vampire drawered, its part dork part magical driven catalog of lure and species.
But the picture is scuba, waving merrily?! from where double trouble bubbles the siren frantic deep. Receiving siren for lure sailors are either stuck without wind or being thrashed and praying. Romans.
Char is from Charlotte, aka Cookie Monster and the Monkey. Is a born-again 11-16 that cradles have always rocked for she is The Incunabula. That was DFWallace?!
Hopefully earning stripes. But then again fishing is excellent.