Monday, January 28, 2013

I changed my sex today
and I'll change it again tomorrow.

I walk in the space of a sound
that can't be easily limned.

I talk in a made-up language
of chords and conundrums.


Appearances  proceeds slowly, painfully.  I'm working on fragment 175.  Another 190  "fragments" to go.


After a little more than a year of working on Appearances, my "novel", I've been slowly starting to think poetry again.

I hadn't anticipated how much doing this insane prose thing--if that is what it is--would inhibit my doing what I'd done before/how I'd taught myself to think--over the course of the last 35 years or so.


Writing, on any level, is a kind of epistemology.  A kind of philosophy of knowing.  That being said, one doesn't always discover one's own sense of things right away.

We speak our philosophies not knowing what we speak. However well-considered our thoughts.


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