The sermon for Feb. 19, 2003 is: i plagiarise myself
8:30 a.m. I come across an old guestbook entry that I wrote sometime apparently in the last century, that ann�e mirabilis 2002, that year when I discovered both special relativity and masturbation. I had forgotten about this guestbook entry! And no one responded to me about it!
You know, I can't think of an actually good Communist poet -- Neruda's Canto General gets bogged down in boorish Surrealism, and Breton's own politics subsume his poetics and sap his imagistic strength. Having said that, I think the original Communist Manifesto has some beautiful poetic moments, as well the the 18th Brumaire, and Neruda, Pessoa and Apollinaire get down and funky when they forget politics (okay, Pessoa is never political). This is a very small comment space, I forget what I have just said. There are remarkable flashes of light in your writing, which in a political realm perhaps can be compared to Deleuze, Guattari; oh fuck it, does it all have to be referential? The problem that I, an avowed Communist and antitotalitarian, have with Communism and antitotalitarianism is that my aesthetics still seem based upon a semi- fascistic ego-based personality. Perhaps that's an element of narcissism. The size of this comment space makes it impossible to argue coherently. Is it possible to be a poet and yet free of narcissism? (forgiving Pessoa's rather extreme example, of course). Is it possible to be a poet and a diarist and yet be free of narcissism?
I forget what else I was going to say here. I talked a long while with Larsen last night about the unreal situation with Bush, Iraq, North Korea, et alia; I confessed to him that this wasn't helping my schizoaffective disorder any. Then Valerie came home, around 11pm, after a date with some random fellow; we discussed for a long time how this effects our "relationship." I sort of wish she would just decide on what she's doing -- is she living with me? Is she going back to Los Angeles? Actually, she makes decisions of this sort all the time; I more rather she would make a decision and stick to it.
The subsumption of my politics into the squirmy personal is a sad affaire to witness.
the Funny Show
agriculture poem
my life in the ghost of Bush
time-lapsed (part 1)
unreconciled
Images are taken without permission from the fine and trusting folks at Folk Arts of Poland; please purchase something from them. Background music stolen without permission from Epitonic, Basta Music, and just about everywhere else my unscrupulous hands could grab something. No rights reserved.
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