Thursday, December 13, 2018

soliloquy to J. D. Salinger

meta-writing as self-begetting authorship, winter 2015—summer 2018

You may have thought I’m serendipitous in stringing together kindreds of ‘potpourri’, but it’s more than making a mélange of kindreds. I commonly write in view of a miscellany of notes that are brought together by some centripetal spirit of thematic belonging, a topical gravity that’s tropographic—a sense of topogeny that is tropological.

To wit: A mass of notes that became discards for writing the middle of “dear casual tourist” have a kindredness that could be named as some charactological (better than ‘characterological’) cohering.

Who is that guy?:

Monday, June 25, 2018

interview silences troped with some confession

After scrolling through Twitter stuff that turns up posts related to the filmmaker and seeing her Instagrams, I felt, as her, that I’m tired of being found “amazing,” etc.—weary of vapid praise.

“What I’ve done, I’ve done.”

I move on.

Monday, April 30, 2018

being there

One’s being in “The Zone” is thrilling: as if being played. A tennis ball is hit
"perfectly.” A basketball itself finds “swish.” Thinking on her feet—the improv-
isation—was inspired. The jazz session was hot. My pen is conscious, and feels being penned. His creativity is in its own, and she’s the creating.

Sunday, September 10, 2017

by the way

Astute sensibility may be largely inaccessible to others’ reputed “good sense.” So, Jane Austin’s distinction can lead into profound intuitions, thanks to conceptual resourcefulness beyond her own era’s options.

But this long posting isn’t about Ms. Austin’s novel. Generally speaking, though, I love to explore differences between transpersonal Sensibility and normative sense applied to literary thinking—and that difference is integral to Literature:
[S] authentic being of oneself (and being appreciated as oneSelf) irt [s] what one is “supposed” to be or do.

After all—and very obviously—exploring gender and class is integral to
the evolution of Literature!—to say the least.

Tuesday, September 5, 2017

life is strange, then you die.

John Ashbery, 1927—2017

I was 26 when I read just-published Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror.
He was in his mid-40s. In my mid-40s, I was writing a long philosophically “poetic” discourse—and happened to read Flow Chart in “one” sitting
(over several days). I may in fact have every one of his collections.
I certainly give Notes From The Air pride of place in my primary library
(a hundred-or-so books I keep nearby, among thousands stored).

London Review of Books honors him today, including links to many poems
he published via LRB.

More to say later—including employment of some Ashbery poems from LRB, now [?] available only to subscribers, to which I’m a longstanding one).