Would That I Might

 As I mentioned before, I started working on what I am thinking of as "conceptual poetry", in the same sense as one would use the term "conceptual art."  It is a very different kind of challenge, I think, but I am finding it very exciting.  There is something to exploring something new, and with actually having to discover what I can achieve within the parameters that I have set myself.  I also feel as if it is work that is kind of daring and challenging to a lot of ideas around poetry, and that is itself a bit exciting.  There is something that I might call dangerous to it, though that might sound silly or overblown.  It feels like a serious artistic risk of a sort that I haven't fond for myself in some time and that is already significant.

Things are slow and I am bored with all the waiting The time goes by without anything passing but the time itself.  That is never true, though, is it?   There are always things that happen, just not  the things I have been waiting for.

I am continuing to work on these new conceptual pieces that I've started producing.  They feel very different in a way that I find exciting, and I am certain part of that is the fact that I think it is work that might challenge a lot of people's thoughts and definitions around poetry.  I could be wrong about that, of course, but I know that some of the stuff I am doing is very much pushing the line intentionally.  I have shown the work to a few people who seemed receptive to it, and who expressed a good deal of enthusiasm, but I know that they are also a select audience.

It seems to be the opposite of what was thought before but it is not, if you consider it, if you understand the real questions being asked, the answers that are being sought. All the contradictions are on the surface, I am certain that is what you will find, not that I have had a chance to delve deeper, it is just  that I can't admit being a hypocrite, so I will find an argument that I can make which resolves the contradiction even if the logic is only sensible inside my own mind.

I am feeling quite productive lately, but the focus has shifted a bit more towards my poetry.  I am still writing fiction, but I can feel that there is a change, that my attention is different.  This is the nature of intuition, I suppose, though I am glad to find that it's fickleness is in terms of what I am writing and not whether. 

No one is saying anything or helping at all with the things that need to be helped, that need  more of it done and known and held together. I am doing and that is  what I can say and what I have said and it is true and has been, but it is not enough. It is all there is and it is nothing, or feels like nothing. Things can't be this empty without  that meaning something, without it becoming  a judgement.

I am feeling quite tired tonight, thought it is still relatively early for me to be finishing up my work.  As such, I am just going to keep this short and try to get myself ready for bed sooner than later.  I hope that it doesn't just wind up meaning that I wake up extra early, though I am afraid that is precisely what is most likely to happen.

Always Soon There was, but now?  What is, now, what remains or was not lost?  I don't have an- swers for you.  I have barely any of the quest- ions.  I have only the space and the time and they should not be so empty.

I do not know how it is that I missed posting a blog entry last night.  There are times when I discover that an entry I wrote was not actually uploaded, but I didn't find a draft or anything.  I could swear that I did write something last night, but perhaps I am mistaken.  In any event, I am here now, which is the best I can do.  My biggest concern is never about having not fulfilled yesterdays obligations, it is about making certain that I don't miss them today.

It is not what I expected and I am not glad, do not like, do not want, never wanted.  It is not what I expected, but I am trying, am doing, am being, am staying, am opening or trying to open or acting as I can, doing as I can, being in it despite the rest, despite it being the wrong thing, the thing I did not want. I am still giving  the effort, only I don't want to. I know it is necessary but, also, it is not good, is just proof of what was wrong that I wanted to change and fix. It is the same problem pretending to be a solution.

We talk about the question of plagiarism and whether it can be a genuine act of artistic creation and not just theft.  I say it cannot be anything else in the current system, with art as commerce, I mean. That limits the meanings that are available, but maybe, outside that, if it were done without usurping the awareness of what was done. I do not doubt anything can be done with genuine intent, though it is hard to imagine it  when this world is the one where I live.

 I am feeling rather overwhelmed lately.  There are several things that I should do, but I just keep dragging my feet, even though none of it is all that difficult, if I actually just do it.  I have been productive, though, having written quite a few new poems in the last several days.  It is interesting how that kind of creativity and the positive energy of inspiration can be so easily quarantined towards specific endeavors.

She is correct Each thing she says, suggests, claims is best, it is right and true and I should listen,  should change my behavior. I will try, I tell her that I will try and I mean it but  that is not  enough.

I am working on some new poetry that is quite a bit different from my other work, and I think it is an approach that I feel is somewhat new and different.  It is certainly something new to me and not based in things that I have read before and I am calling it "conceptual poetry," in an analogy to conceptual art.  These are poems which are kind of abstract, in a way, where the real poem is not the thing I am writing itself but an experience that I am asking the reader to enter through a set of instructions, for example.  I do not know quite how to describe it aside from referencing the notions that are evoked by conceptual art, if I am honest.  It may be that such a thing does exist already, and I am certain I can find that out, but whether it is something new or not, I am finding it an intriguing space to play within right now, and it has certainly opened up a new vein of creative thought for me.

It is new  and not what is expected but maybe that is good or what is needed. I do not know what else will help or what might work. This is a start, is new and not anything I have known. I am scared and not certain but it is  good, I think, or could be. I think it should be anyhow, but I  never know.

I wrote another of those stories that kind of begins with me thinking about the fact that I don't know what to write and building a story out of that in some way.  In many cases it is a story that serves as a kind of excuse for why I didn't write, but the one tonight was a bit different than that, but it still began with the admission that I was trying and failing to write a story.  I think it is a fun story, and I feel like I did a good job overall, but I worry that the ending might not quite work, even though I feel it is a kind of perfect ending, if I am honest.  I think there is just some little tiny twist to it that would make it really shine, but at present I am not certain what that needs to be.  I'll keep thinking until I figure out what is missing, or I decide I like it the way it is right now after all.

I do not think you understand and I do not want to be caught trying to make it clear or hear  the results, the opinions that grow from your inability to grasp or hold what has been offered. You do not realize what it even is and want to reshape it towards what it never was. That is not fine, is worse, is harmful to me.  I feel that. I don't know what we can do when that is the case, but I feel  as if it is another thing I am not allowed to realize or react to.

A few years ago, a peahen took up residence down the street from us.  We believe she was displaced from her home by a storm and somehow decided that our little street was a good place to call home.  We would see her, on occasion, at the far end of the street, when we were going someplace or coming home.  A couple of weeks ago, though, she showed up in our front yard.  She came by one day for a bit and then again a few days later.  Today, she seemed to spend the whole day outside our house.  I first saw her around eight or so and she was there when we left to go out for dinner around seven tonight.  I suspect she might still be outside right now, but it is a bit dark to tell.  There is something quite magical about it, I must say, and it feels like a positive omen, or, at the very least, a sign that our house has a good energy.

I did not expect it to be this and I don't like it, really. I had thought I knew what was coming and was excited, but it is something else that I didn't want and don't want but I feel obligated, feel it is necessary for me to do this. I don't know what else to say besides that. I am here, now, and it is this way. I can't undo the choices I already made.

I have to admit that I feel a certain relief at Biden choosing to step aside in the election.  For one thing, I am keenly aware that many of the claims Republicans have been making about him involve Biden being distinctly illiberal, the refusal to heed such a distinct call to step aside would play into that narrative.  Even beyond that, it was pretty clear that Biden faced an extremely uphill climb to win.  There is still, clearly, a fight to be had, but I have to admit that I feel a bit more hopeful about the chances that democracy might win at least one more round in this country.

There are always lines I could have left it and maybe that would be better or it would not matter, but I worry about these things. It holds me back that I care in that way. I know it does. So what? I am not certain it is a thing I can change without doing too much harm.

The world is quite frustrating right now, and a bit terrifying, really, and maybe that is why I am trying to push my writing in a bit of a more playful direction for the moment.  I am always playing in my work, in some way at least, but I mean that I am trying to push myself towards certain kinds of play, I suppose, and towards things that are more silly, in a way.  That is not to suggest a lack of meaning or intention behind it, but there is a balance.  I feel, at the moment, that it would be good for me, in many ways, to just try and make some stuff that is fun and silly, and I think it is worth letting myself explore that space.

Uncertainties I am attempting to do more and be freed from the way it had been. I am thinking in other terms and moving in other ways. I do not know if it helps. It may not. It might  harm me, really, I don't know. I cannot know. How would I? It is the future and that is unclear. I am glad,  I suppose, because certainty would suggest the wrong outcomes.

I began working on a new longer piece a bit ago, right after I finished the story I had been working on.  At present, I have been trying to work on that each day as well as writing one flash piece.  The thing is, at the moment, I am not entirely certain what I am writing in that longer piece.  It is a conversation at the moment, and I feel like it has a lot of themes and interesting ideas, maybe, but I don't know what it is about or what needs to happen in it.  I think I might be getting to something, though, or that I am, at least, getting to know the characters better at this point.

Unearned Certainties I made the choice  and it will be  the way of things, will be what has to be because it is the choice,  right?  What can there be if nothing else is even possible? I don't allow the other thing. I choose it to be what it must be, what it needs to be.  How can that not be the answer?

One of the things that I keep thinking about lately, in reference to the Democratic party and Joe Biden's candidacy for president this time around, is how much it suggests certain problems are not limited to the Republicans.  The fact is, Donald Trump is not simply a problem because he does and says the things he says and does, but because no Republican has ever been able to stand up and change the trajectory once Trump sets it.  If Trump wants things to be this way, it is a decided thing and he will not listen whatever anyone else says.  I can't help but see a parallel with that same dynamic playing out the past few weeks.  I hope that we are finally reaching a point where Biden can be persuaded to listen to others about this, but it seems absurd that we are in a situation where his behavior seems to have become so similar to that of his opponent, even if his underlying intentions seem unchanged.

It is needed and I should.  I know that I should.  I won't. I am sure that is not a surprise. It is not what I want or how I wish I could spend time. I don't think there is a clear understanding of why it is  so difficult, but I won't explain. I know  if I did it would be another thing between us, another thing you would think was clear. I don't know how to get beyond the point where you insist on what I mean being the same as what you perceive it to be.

 I am starting to feel more confident just riffing in fiction.  In some ways it is just a matter of trusting myself.  Tonight, I really feel like I pulled something kind of interesting out from nowhere, just by starting to write.  I began, as I often do when I am not certain, with the idea of finding a reason that I wasn't able to write a story, and that becomes something on its own, generally.  Often, it can take a bit of time to figure out the actual idea, but it comes together from doing the work.  Tonight, it felt like the understanding of where I was headed emerged quite fast, and I felt like I also worked in a bunch of things that were in my head, at least in thematic terms.  It felt like there was some kind of shift, or it may just be that it went well tonight and tomorrow will be a different story entirely.  Even if that is true, though, I do feel like I got a decent story for my efforts, and that is something, certainly.

I cannot say that you are wrong about the nature of it, about what it is.  It is a certain kind of thing, and I do not think it matters to me if you care about that. I do not want to know if you agree or think it is right and true and should be the way it is.  There are questions to be certain, and I am not sure you understand the lines that cannot be crossed. I know you will say it is only a thought, but that does not make it less of a hostility when you press your suggestion into my palm.

I feel pretty good about the story I wrote tonight.  It was another that falls into a strange sort of zone that I have been carving out in which I am kind of a character writing a story and interacting with the characters in it, but in a sort of meta-fictional way, with everyone in the story kind of aware of that and the center of the story often relating to the writing itself in some way.  I am not certain that it always works, but it is a direction that I keep moving towards when I am writing stories.  I felt like the story I wrote tonight was interesting, I think.  I am curious to find out what other people think when they get a chance to read it.

The Way Forward I know the need is for more joy, more celebration of living and being happy in the world as we are. I do know and I want to move  with that in my heart. The world is not easy, feels differnt and strange and I am afraid, but maybe that is why it must be a choice I make and why it is  right now when I must choose it.

Last night I finished up working on the longer piece that I had been writing.  I had been working on it every night as the first thing I would do when I was starting my writing.  It was kind of nice, I found, as i had a place to begin and didn't need to start from zero right away.  I was also writing other things, including a great many additional stories, but having someplace to start was very helpful.  It is easy to sit at my desk and not write, and to make excuses if I don't think I have a good idea for a story or something.  So, tonight I decided to just start work on something else that I can keep running until I get to a point where it feels done.  I just sort of began the piece with a bit of dialogue and a scene that I already had in mind.   I don't have a great idea of where it is heading but I am excited to find out.

My friend sent me a photo from the grave of a writer he knows I too love. He is not like me, by which I mean he is not a writer. I do not know if he is even a reader any longer.  He sends me the photo and I take time to read the headstone and realize who he is visiting with. I am certain you are wondering who it was but it seems private, or intimate is the better word. I cannot explain. He shared it with me but that is not enough for me to feel it is mine, though I doubt  he would care, and I know that. It is not only him but the dead, as well, if that makes sense or if it does not, because I know, but that is living, I think, or maybe it is dying which is the same or just the result. But that is too dramatic. It only feels appropriate these days, the same way it seems right, in this moment, that he would spend his time on that excursion, and, as well, that he  would send  a souvenir to me.

I am not certain what to write on this blog at the moment.  It feels a bit silly to say much of anything about things as I usual do, so I am just going to say that I did my writing for tonight and will wrap it up at that.  Hopefully, I will have a better idea for what to do tomorrow night.

Uncentered It is not clear to me why you think we would agree or be able to, not any longer, not even now. There isn't a way for it to be one thing again. It is clear,  either can exist but only if the other is eradicated.

Things in this country just keep getting more twisted and less clear and I don't know what else to say tonight.  I am not really certain what to say about recent events, except that I am wondering at what the actual fallout of any of this will be.  it feels clear that things are just going to keep getting stranger and more demented as we continue towards the election, though that could just be my own perception of it all.

There are things to do and they must be done while it matters, while things are not done that will make it impossible or irrelevant or just not good any longer. I can choose to wait.  That is fine and I am allowed but I know I am only doing it so I can say I was waiting for something that won't happen, so I can do nothing and still be upset that nothing was ever done.

I am getting to the point where I am starting to feel like I am capable of kind of directing my fiction a bit more in some ways.  That is, I have begun to think about how to imbue stories with more specific meanings and directions, to make them about things in the real world in ways that are more direct.  In part this is my feeling like I have the ability to do a better job of this, and in part it is my beginning to accept the need to be more direct about some things.  I am still a bit hesitant, I will admit.  There is a degree of vulnerability in allowing certain ideas to enter into the work, at least for me, and I wasn't always prepared to do that, so it does not come naturally to me, even now, but it is becoming something that I am more and more comfortable with pursuing, and I feel like that is probably positive for me.

Simulacra? You think this is the same thing as that, but they just resemble each other in certain ways, and share properties that you do not know are immaterial without being  in conjunction with what is needed, what is real.  The real is what is missing and you are not aware of what that means, cannot tell what is genuine because someone has changed it all, has re-labelled the world, renamed what was sitting inside your mind while you weren't  paying enough attention. No, you tell me, that didn't happen and can't be, but how certain you are is just the way it would feel, isn't it?  

The stories I have been writing lately often feel like they are moving into a new space, and one that I find harder to categorize or describe.  That does not mean that it is original or anything like that, but it isn't something that I feel fits into the forms that I usually think of.  In some ways, I think it is just a result of my writing so much.  I am always in need of a new idea, and so that can result in my leaping at even something that might be a bit thin or strange or otherwise not what I would go for if I had another option, and that seems to be, actually, a good thing.  It pushes me to work beyond the limits of inspiration and easy ideas.

it has all changed I do not know any longer what it is to feel that way or what it would mean to have it back again. It seems to be gone and that is a change in what I know about the world, is a movement from naivete  towards knowing too much and not being free because of it, because of recognizing all the ways it had always been true already that I never noticed.

I received another rejection today.  It is for a manuscript that I have been sending around, and if I am honest about it, I feel like it is a good piece.  It is probably the best manuscript of poetry that I've composed, and a large part of that is because the work is laid out in a way that builds a larger piece out of the individual poems in a way that I found very satisfying.  The rejection, of course, hurts, as it always does, though I do feel buoyed that the editor felt moved enough by the work to send me a personal note instead of the usual form letter, expressing an appreciation for the work and implying that the decision not to publish it was not without some discussion between those involved.  As I said, it is never fun to receive a rejection, it does make a difference to have that kind of response and I can't help but hope it is, perhaps, a positive sign of things to come.

Only Ever This is too long for nothing to have come, and that is  not fair to say, but it is the truth and I am tired and waiting is not the same as waiting was when it was  earlier and different. You know this, don't you? I am saying what you must know, should know already. If not it is worse, isn't it?

I have been thinking a good deal about how to explain why I believe that the type of writing I do is important, and I believe that I am beginning to have a better sense of how to discuss the underlying issues and what the stakes as I perceive them.  For me, it is largely about fighting against limiting and controlling forms of thoughts.  This may seem strange or abstract, but it is not.  Consider that thought is deeply rooted in language, to the point that many theorize that language is an essential part of human cognition as we understand it.  As Orwell pointed out, language is a tool that can be utilized to police and control thought.  By writing within certain conventions, we are providing limits on thinking, as well, and my goal as a writer is to demonstrate that language can move outside those boundaries, for the purpose of helping to break through limits on thinking that are often implicitly followed.  I mean, really, that I am trying to use language to create unexpected experien

It is there, but what is there and why and how can it be understood or changed or made better?  I tried to stop the harms  I thought were  involved, but it is no better or maybe it is worse and I am not comforted or pleased, won't say the real words because they are too much and admit too much and it is too dark to think it could be anything  that would matter and should be considered.  I don't know even how to start, but it is needed, isn't it?  Or else the consequences that I don't know are the ones I am accepting.

I feel a bit hesitant to call the piece that I wrote tonight a story.  In many ways it is more similar to an essay, at least in terms of the intent and content, but it is intentionally written in a way that feels very much against that, and I am trying, as well, to imbue it with other elements that are meant to give it a quality that is somewhat akin to a story in terms of the emotionality of the piece.  I tried to create a sort of emotional arch for the reader, though I did it using elements that are kind of subtle and hidden, to make it really more experiential than narrative.  I am certain that I am doing a terrible job of explaining any of this, and that is kind of the point I am making, because that difficulty in describing the work reflects the fact that it doesn't really fit into a lot of the categories and conventions of most writing.

Find a new way forward or do not continue because there is not an old way  that goes through and any new way is better , at least. It is not going well but it has a center and that means it is better than I think, or could be.  My judgements are nothing good or useful, anyhow, are just me being biased in the ways  that I always will be. Why am I stuck on this part of the question? It is not what matters. Th rest is much more than anything I am fiddling with at this one moment.

I am finding it difficult to get the story ideas I have been having to work.  I've had a few ideas that felt kind of interesting to me, and which I think are worth trying to play with, but when I have tried to actually start writing one of them, my confidence kind runs away and I feel like I have no idea what I am doing.  That is not anything all that new for me, and I do often find it difficult to work on particular pieces of writing because I get flustered or confused, but that is usually when it is around work that is personal in some way.  These story ideas don't feel personal in that way.  In these cases, it is more that I am pushing myself into spaces that I am not certain about yet, and the best way for me to develop that capacity is by attempting to write these very stories.

Something came but it was not when I was ready I did not expect it or want it in that moment. That is fine. I am not in control of when the world goes from this moment to that one, or how  each is filled. It happened and I did not allow it, did not realize it was nothing I could have changed. It happened and I am still here but it is still what happened. I don't know if that is  easy to explain or understand, because I don't have a clear way to understand it, to hold it.  I have a beard on so the mirror will not show me the ghost that is beneath.

Melissa and I went out and tried a new restaurant tonight.  It was expensive, but the food and service were both quite good.  It was nice to be able to go out and have a nice evening together and not worry about everything that is happening in this country right now for a few minutes.  I suppose that I need to remind myself to take time to enjoy what I can.  I am unfortunately certain that is a lesson that will come in more and more important in the future.

Too Far I want to believe it is still possible  but it seems clear what is coming and I am not going to pretend that I don't know, but what good is knowing? I can't do anything or change it or even prepare in any way that matters. I suppose I know there are ways  I could ready myself or change things, but it is so much and too hard. I will regret saying that.

I am just going to keep this short tonight as I am quite exhausted.  To be honest, it is crazy to me that I am still up this late right now, considering how little I slept last night.  At least I didn't let it stop me from getting my writing done.

I could have made that same mistake again I almost did make it, but it was not the same mistake, or was not quite the same even if it was identical in the mechanics. There are specifics that I can say don't matter or I can say that they do. It is just whether I want it to fit  in one category or another, which is a strange thing to be doing and I am not certain it is at all good to think in those ways.

It is so strange to be celebrating the fourth right now.  I am certain many others feel it, too, but, despite that, there is something so unchanging and normal as well, and that is kind of what makes it really odd, I think.  Anyhow, even if it is a bit of a strained holiday this year, I still hope everyone well for it. 

What is to come when the wait has ended?   I do not  have an answer. I have a hope for what is best, what I believe would be, though I  am not part of anything, am not anyone whose decision would matter. I exist, though and will be here, I hope,  in the aftermath. That is enough to give reasons for worrying.

There are times when I write something and I am not certain about what exactly I am actually doing with it.  I don't mean that as a bad thing, but as something quite the opposite, really, as a recognition of trying to go farther and push my work into new places.  I do not always know, as I said, what I am doing when this happens.  Tonight, for example, I began, as I often do when feeling a bit stuck on writing a story, with an idea around why I hadn't written something that built from the idea of feeling like a story is hiding from me or being evasive in some way, which is a real sense I have had, and I suppose that the piece is, in part, a meditation on that kind of experience, but it is also a kind of strange metafictional piece where the stories I am writing are kind of personified in some sense.  I don't know if it works as a piece of fiction or is more a kind of micro-memoir thing, or something else entirely as it is rather disembodied and cerebral.  As I said above, I

Maybe it is better or it might get that way or it might be too late and that is how it feels but I don't know if I would know, anyhow. It was never clear, nothing was ever defined or given real boundaries, and I never tried to be more concrete and less intuitive. I trusted and followed and that was fine, but now I am finding it was not good as preparation for being in the world.

I do not have a way to tell you or to change what will happen, but it is not separate. I am in the shadow of your choice and wish I could at least be a voice you have heard. I know everyone thinks such things, it is not possible for it to be  that way, not really, but it is still worth knowing and understanding, and thinking of whether the world would be better if it were so, if it could be and it were.

I tried my hand at writing something political tonight, or, to be more specific, at a sort of opinion piece.  I am often, if I think about it, writing about politics in one way or another, but it is rarely all that direct or specific.  With things the way that they are in this country right now, it felt necessary, though I do not really feel that confident about it.  To be honest, I don't really know what I am doing in that kind of writing, as it is not something I've every practiced, but I also have read plenty of well constructed pieces that barely said anything, so it may be that my lack of refinement and training actually serve me well in this endeavor.  

There is a novel by Alain Robbe-Grillet called Jealousy which consists of the same series of images and ideas being repeated in various ways.  It is unclear which of the events described are real and which are imagined, cannot even be certain of when in time the narrator is in relation to the rest, as they could just as easily be imagining what is about to happen at they could be  reflecting back on events that actually occurred.  It is intended to lead the reader into a certain kind of experience, and I can't help but admire it, despite the fact that it isn't a book most people would find interesting or worth reading (I do think it worth mentioning that Robbe-Grillet did have a period of popularity, at one one point, but it faded and his work is not all that commonly read),  I think I might have an idea for a story that I could play with in that format, and it is not simply taking that concept as it has already been used, but adds an extra element to it.  I am not certain if i

It worked out \ and I am glad to know that, but it was unclear and I was worried, was uncertain about any choice that I made, either way seemed wrong. It went better than I expected and I don't know if what I did was part of that or just what I did, but it is good things are how they are. I can accept that, it is good, but the randomness still remains to haunt me.