Its good to add in two cents. If going to contribute then offer it. If not then not —
But to create my own — while joining somewhere. I had to join in somewhere.
And there’s this Rotto who doesnt want to belong anywhere, but to remain a stray dog, untagged// if that makes any sense —
Doesnt adhere to the singular?? No that’s a lie… The independent is also a singularity of proposed purpose. A demon in the tussle.
Like having a boundary of bandits… That’s a joke makes me think of Seven Samurai…
In Illustration, Design or Teaching I never work independently. Its always a community. One of its greatest values to me has been specifically, the kind of shared effort it brought into my life.
But writing…
Walking around with this independent thing going on in my head. With Who D. Nee. Ha.
About how freethinking, as an independence from 1) Academic Art, 2) High Culture, 3) Film Studies, 4) Pragmatism, etc. burned inside of me.
And yet am not after the making of something “original” — when I am writing. Thats not it at all.
See flow as I go, as wonderland, that it is going through, that fascinates. How it exposes and composes the declarative, and the meditative, how rides “the range” with the other, with the ancient, with language and rhetoric. Both being a derivative, ohhh and the seductress of the repetitive.
Part of fiction is falling in love with the repetitive? for all its worth! HCE. Thats a repetitive. Simplifying the nature of repetitions until you can subsume and exhume their relationship to each other, while embracing its availability.
There was in my screaming beaners a constant “beef” being inflected, and despaired over, about Emmy’s predacious aloof ???? I wanted her clarity, but not her aloofness, which like a monster in free fall came with the territory. Anyone else think of Emily as predacious. Do I think of Z as predacious?
Ha. Can a Bull. Thats a joke. Alas, when it comes to me, many do not have a sense of humor. Disgust out ways the curiosity.
Indy Pen Dent
I’m not independent wrt the absurd, or any of the metaphysics, the sexual scale e wag comes through both the silly and the moorose…. A circling coup of swimming in language as a swallowing of its breadth —
Procreating license, accessing love, basting in limits and pleasures of lyricism, seducing away the torture. Junkyard disdain…
Darkness is lately, a turning away from Can A Bull, into a quasi religious bohemian hack-crack-stack-it-up reckoning with time as insurrection and indenture, lapsing into junctures with shine, how douses the celebrity saturation as an inculcation for taking up a share in it, and a halting half moon…
Also did thee Beethoven? obsessed with the pragma kaka of his loneliness and how from it invokes a power…
Creatures of Prometheus
Hows that for a title?
Ideas in writing are amid a flow — flow out of existential relations!
God of no, wilderness gods, god of love, all these are an existential relation… ?
If accompanied by the absurd.
Relations with hecklers, the prickly and the throb, I often found shocking, once inhabited tho, refused to “budge.” Cause Beethoven was there. He slipped into the metaphysic when partitioning with ferocious spares scares dares
bears…
into bars of expression.
My work exists for itself in that respect. And others are replete in it. It is being created now in its own images.
In a way, the stymie and flame, ride along as its bridgehead — letting Prometheus’ critters gnome foam roam bleed seed feed rhyme as need…
As I polish up poems, thread a score of sandstormy repetitions that — using ancient terms — engender as divine’d — flash and spar with what burns inside the “jar” as a vibration unto the endlessness of an infinity. Renderings are for me, something more than strings of fiction.
Or an eruption chasing the sweetness of its rebellion while endeavoring to untwist the absurd — from everything else?
Well, at least, from the consistent —
Expectations of what else I should be — what else I could try to be — that expatiation damned me… ? Elsie from Chelsie..
In my head am working towards two deadlines. Novel is opening up — to its own pose and transit, to exalt and curate the detonations and allow through a mystery at its musicality…
Subtitle: Vanity of Insanity, that’s a joke. For each section to flow, itself as place in a case of resistance brushing against the surface... atoning?
Started as a Note