Sure. These are drifts into snow. Writing is often called snow by people who exchange balls of it.
But concentration is on books. Pushed through first forty chapters now second novel. The two novels are becoming more and more distinctive as I work on them. But also the second one, takes from the first. The books know about each other. Beckett does that a bit.
The philosophical novel its no more philosophical than Beckett or Cioran. Beckett does a kind of literary abstract at times. He can paint. Cioran doesnt paint in his journals. He doesnt use words that way.
Philosophy gets mined, is inherent in what gets addressed. Even true with Pessoa tho more loosely.
In some of the chapters I slip through Burroughs lobster and sprites where shock has taken over, and into Pynchons liquid rushes, whose sense for the absurd is prettier. Finding that, and freeing it from where it lives in me .
When I worked in publishing, I remember Anthony Burgess came in, as he was being published by company where I worked. And the chairman of the dept gave him his office to type in. That’s all he wanted.
Narratives now working on — gives lease to the rhymer enough that it keeps the poet fastened there. Which is a good thing. As it attends to itself in a way different than my poems.
Its good to write out in the open. Had to, in order to train myself to do it without fear. And it took a long time to stop caring that it was a wash, that it lit up with my linen.
I joined onto Johnny Depp’s People’s Artist competition. After he did version of SMs song.
An alignment with faith, are cross connections for me. I stopped worrying about it. That it is an extension of my pirate nature as a poet. I used to really worry about that a lot.
Worked through a poem with JD in mind — at the end, he suddenly became part of the ending. Cause I was using a french verb had come across: Piaffer.
Was thinking of Edith Piaf as a verb. Even tho thats not what it means. I nonce words at times. Poem is a cutters. It carries more than one voice. Knife cutting through my junkyard blues.
The narrative in both novels, are driven on now, each by its own processes. And the help I got to find my way through what writing does to me, is part of what it is for me to be a writer. To have survived the disintegrations into language that the work initially did to me. And still does!
People’s Artist competition, winner gets published in Artforum magazine, and nice chunk of cash.
Here’s the info: https://peoplesartist.org/
Even though I do art, its secondary to writing. I signed up anyway, as a writer, including poetry and some art work from here and my own site.
The two new weasel brushes I am in love with from China, that are what everybody in China uses. They are perfect.
Learning not just how to paint with them — but also draw. I find doing the brushstrokes in black and white on rice paper calms the nut back into its shell from terrors approaching Kafka in my writing…
Our Supreme Court for instance, is Kafka-esque.