everything is available-ated

being the slow ass that i am, i didn't precisely realize this until like a second ago, but a blog really is a distinct organism, isn't it? like, i do a lot more in here than i could either in published form (faint mollification for the fact that i remain unpublished on paper, but something, right?) or in diary form. i can throw stuff in here that works with my rhizomatic understanding of how my life and thoughts come together to "create" "poetry," such as this thought, for instance, without going all poetic journal in the thirties t.s. eliot with it (again, like i could ever have gotten published in that chicago thing [i don't remember if that's where t.s. eliot published, either, but i know he published somewhere]). because, see, i know that poetic essays usually sound like CRAZY PEOPLE have written a series of words on a page and we're all supposed to take them seriously (see proprieception), either this, which is preferable, or they pretend like they make sense by arguing through something carefully to the point that we all realize that there is no argument, no point, and possibly no god (see something about w.c.w's moveable iamb thing by some woman whose name i don't remember but might be diane). but in a blog, rambling is expected, encouraged, possibly enjoined.

and because i like to ramble while producing sentences that fall within the province of pretty prosaic english language, these odd essay things i put on here, which aren't poetry but are sometimes closely related to poetics (and sometimes are related to poetics just by proximity), wouldn't work at all as a series of kora in hell-style fragmentations (not in the least because i'm no william carlos williams). unlike william carlos williams, i don't pretend that i'm doing anything new; i'm not particularly interested in newness. newness requires direction, an impersonal sense of trajectory--i'm not interested in anything impersonal.

transparency would be one frame to put around that which the blogging format has provided me. i exist in constellation on this blog (william carlos williams would approve!), and no grass grows on the lines between word and word. that's a poetic way of saying that all my inconsistencies are wildly available in this format, and i like that. i want it recorded that there was a day on which i knew myself in love, and another day on which i passed it off as metaphor or worse. nothing is permanent, nothing is un-adjustable; everything is just available. which sounds like a somewhat dirtier movie than the one that frodo starred in, but i didn't see everything is illuminated, nor read the book (hey, good as it looked, it was published after 1950), so i don't know.

i like growing up. it scares me, but i like it. for instance, black sabbath is a descendant of led zepplin. i could have read that on the internet, but i prefer to find it out myself. and ann peebles is amazing.