This writing is less the craft heavy and prosody poised work that keeps process hidden behind closed doors of the poet’s writing studio and their intellectual hesitance, and more the freestyle, live over home-made beats push for moments of flow.
I am other / sound of thunder
Less building a perfectly sturdy house with all the bells and whistles and more finding shelter before a storm hits.
I have this project or idea, it’s where I take an overhead projector to various places and write out poems, essays, flash fiction and other writing.
… because I am a fool.
We grow. We learn. We wipe it all away.
Here, I’ve found a place to dialogue this art outside the city gates. I don’t want to sound intellectual or worse, arrogant. I want to talk about things that have challenged and opened up my creativity.
I very suddenly submitted my chapbook to a number of fantastic places.
And why avoid something modern and weird and uncertain and without academic criticism having focused on it for a thousand years?
I don’t think that’s a bad thing.
Words can’t approach the real thing, the ultimate meaning-experience, the total version of all that is.
Commentary isn’t speech….How many dumb things have I written in this post alone?
The waves and cracks in the cosmos bring out what has always been defiantly itself, no matter what within our powers we think makes it happen.
Do I dare disturb the universe? Absolutely.
Chatty group tonight. It’s like a fruit salad.
There is something intimate, something very particular that we are awarded when offered a look at someone’s private writing. We get to see those thoughts that don’t get shared with the group in the moment, thoughts that don’t exactly roll off the tongue, but which stick to paper like a dry worm
There were times when I was lost to the world.
It’s important to not lose sight of what you do. Grad school can be a lot of doing what you’re … More
No one knows me.
Maybe I never did.
I started my first notebook not long after. It was a pocket size, green cover, ring notebook. I hid the little thing above the ceiling tiles of my then basement bedroom (calm down, the basement had carpet and a window—I wasn’t JoJo the dog face boy whose family kept him locked up in the shame-dungeon).
Do you even blog, bro?
Pictures of cats, though. Definitely the cats.