||[Aug. 22nd, 2006|03:39 pm]
Well first off, I only did the assignment today and just now. as for the dissecting the black box functioning of my writing, well i'm not sure how it works. phrases come to me. as do scenarios. not always together, although i suppose a phrase is a scenario generally. i don't believe sounds and shapes can be completely separated from their most associated meaning into a pure sensation. that said, the writing to keep is the stuff you wake up thinking about and have to write down before you go back to bed usually. of course with a little work you can also slowly draft and revise your way to something similar. |
as for what influences it, well everything i suppose. there's no such thing as the writer in the abstract. it's just another form of communication i suppose. you take in the data, find the signal in it, and then communicate it back out with your amendments. sometimes it's only when we attempt to reconstitute the data and send it back out that we come to understand what signal we took in to begin with.
at a broader level, i suppose writing is just another input output we go through each day like eating and defecating. probably not as important though.
that said lately my anxiety has been informing my writing...as well as whatever topics are superficially on my mind. one provides the theme and the other largely provides the means of expressing the theme.
lately i've been thinking back to a younger time when i thought there was some way to unravel all of my neuroses and completely understand myself, and so was committed to said pursuit. then i gave up on it, and acquired more layers of confusion via debauchery and carelessness. now it seems my first attempts, while always having no chance of total success, were at least a more powerful and sustainable existence. writing has been a large part of this for me. analysis. getting it on paper. i think it's what all artists are doing whether they admit it or not. they can posit some paradigm shifting cultural theory, but really it's about getting thoughts out of their heads and into others. it's more about reaching out than condescending with tablets and commandments. just some quick thoughts on my process anyways.
this is because i liked your old english poem. i don't know old english though, so i made some up.
Song of the Gledge
Strang a' langau
Strod aul Burk
Abod kilead aul n’weep.
Wha strang a shirk’d
Tha cost a steep.
Drang o’ uurongau
Kilead abod aul strang.
Mose fole a liff
Wha strang a luff,
Tha lady eyes aul blue.
Strole far n’cast a’ slep
Aul blue tha lady eyes.
Strole far n’cast n’pace.
Burk, aul Burk, n’pace.
well this one was off the top of my head, but it could be developed into something i suppose. obviously the theme is appealing to me.
Brightly colored VH1 turns off
And a black shriking white dot shush provides too frightful
A moment of silence.
The room is full of wooden ducks and tweed basket chairs
And the other room an untuned piano.
Going out later, for a trip, not flying anywhere
Driving. I’ll drink with my friends,
Until my intelligence is at a level appropriate to my station.
We’ll do something that will almost get us arrested.
And we’ll laugh about it after the hangovers tomorrow.
On the drive there, a pop song is on the radio
And it fills me.
Put in a cd, switch in another.
Maybe I’ll get tired of all these cds.
Only way to know for sure is to keep buying them.
There’s hope in buying more and never knowing,
Which one will be too much.
Got work tomorrow though. No time to sillify myself
Over this meaning or that. Not like that bum on the corner,
Who has his mind or nothing, and usually neither.
Bums are good for a joke.
When I get there my friends all great me,
Their faces all a little bit gaunt and all a little bit fat.
and this poem has some lines i like and is on a topic it's hard for me to write well about just yet as i haven't yet formulated my entire argument on it, but it's also a topic that should be written about.
“Excessive bail shall not be required”
Dead man walking,
Same as it was, more decorum now than ever.
Nowhere else to put them.
Cruel used to have a less onerous meaning. Just meant hard.
Flesh becomes the only medium,
At a certain point of disagreement right?
Sitting simply, with fewer distractions,
They get a chance few ever do.
Knowing it. Being told it’s worth something.
If you were one of the innocents, you’ve given
Up on convincing anyone a long time ago –
You look the part
Still time to convince yourself even when the hood goes on.
At least put it on tv, ppv -
No no no at the mandatories. you can’t waive the 8th
It’s not there for you.
It’s for the rest of us.
Scares us feeling what you might have felt.
Looking at life go out like a dead bulb –
Above the left ear knotted, the drop
The legs, which had not been pinioned,
The arms extended pleadingly,
He regained consciousness and begged
To have the cap removed
And to make another speech.
This refused, and the drop fell again.
Seeing eye sockets emptied like bad buttons,
You could stick your fingers in them,
All you’d get is texture. bones snap
Like uncooperative legos.
- And so no son, you can’t waive the 8th –
We’d be embarrassed as children are
When their mother overscolds a classmate –
Fights a battle for them in overzealous love.
And love first frightens us then,
And we feel somehow a little culpable
Just for existing.
But we use thicker rope to prevent decapitation,
boil the rope to reduce elasticity,
We oil it to reduce friction,
And we place the knot over the carotid artery.
“evolving standards of decency…mark the progress
of a maturing society”
the contortions begin to lessen, and finally cease
and the whole mess, if there’s blood or defecation,
is cleaner for being done.
“nor excessive fines imposed”
the CO-s joke about it before and after.
That’s where gallows humor comes from.
They get attached sometimes too though.
Nobody on the squad wanted to be the one
Who hit Elisio Mares in the heart,
So they aimed away from the white cloth marking it.
So he bled to death cumulatively fatal wounds,
In 12 minutes.
What are 12 minutes, in the grand scheme?
What’s one wheel, one beam, arm or strap?
Who ends or what ends?
Who are these invisible? Big oops. All of them.
Not just a normal oops. They have to seem way out there.
Can’t appear too like someone we know. Better yet,
Can’t appear at all. Killer sentenced. Always the same
One that way. mitigations were for the death phase.
how close an eye do those 12 keep on it?
“nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted”
sodium penthathol, pancuranium bromide, potassium chloride.
A better mousetrap. A dentist’s chair. We’ve been taught to trust this.
Let’s get this over with. Yes yes, just steadying the machine.
Chemistry is more calming than physics.
Priest gives rites sometimes. Convicts love jesus.
Makes it seem like it can be worth something.
A spiritual math. Fill a hole with a hole. One less cost for a cost.
It’s what they’re fed. Last meal, you did good, be brave son.
Proud of you.
Maybe the last thought is that retribution is accomplished,
Some shining tomorrow will foam out of the convulsions.
No, the needle lacks that drama, and that promise.
or maybe, who cares?
maybe - my eyes are blue like the sky is blue
and all that separates them is this no good head.
Step into the room either way, the door closed forever,
Are we cut off or are they-
A sharp clean philosophy,
An inverted pascal’s wager –
Forget the aftermath or beforemath,
Do you believe in life enough
To kill even if there’s a chance
That it’s futile and pointless –
One big last statement and then pain that can’t be felt.
McCoy choked and heaved
Due to an incorrect mixture –
At midnight a short conference is held.
The newspapers report it the next day
Back a page.
It gets put down next to the cereal,
The banana peel, the war dead.
Nothing unusual about it,
About our lives, the victims' lives -
returning to distant, faceless wholeness.