One Too Many Mornings

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Current laptop background

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Peace of mind

Only in my mind does it come so easily, joining hands, kissing cheeks. An equation balancing out like some sacred set of waves carrying a ship home to shore, all itches never needing scratched. Masks of tolerance and treaty no longer for sale, not on the market, the necessity for such commodities gone.

My thoughts are still restless, at each others' throats, some bending the knee to others but more throwing down their gauntlets and more and more. A restless populace, a deja vu each battering.

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Crush on: Lovefoxxx

Nikki and I sit down with Luisa Matsushita, singer of Brazilian band CSS, better known as Lovefoxxx.  We talk about doing nitruous, Lady Gaga’s boobs, more drugs, bleaching eyebrows, Japan, and drunken midnight snacks.

Check out CSS’ radio show Frappucino & Friends

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Recorded in my bedroom in China (2008)

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Second-guessing

The second you've called it a guess, the answer is lost. Not that there is one true answer, one truth; there is conviction. If the conviction begins to chip and flake, then the third and fourth guesses, a crumble, a rumble.

Every second is a guess, sixty guesses adding up to a minute, how many guesses in each breath I am taking now. It is late at night, fewer breaths, but so many guesses, chances, for anything to happen. Anyword to leave my mouth or enter my ear, anyone to come into conversation with, or conversion toward.

Guessing after anyone who has already guessed, who has already thought. Well aware that I'm not the first I try to answer, each test a word in my mouth, or at least sitting aside and watching many other people each guess in turn, I smile because I have these seconds with my friends.

It was all just a few seconds, I guess, and maybe this is a second here, perhaps one over there.

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Current laptop background

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Literature (in contrast to journal writing) is an entry into public conversation. At its best it enacts, explores, comments on, further articulates, radically questions the ethos of the discourses from which it springs. Hence my use of the word poethics. Every poetics is a consequential form of life. Any making of forms out of language (poesis) is a practice with a discernible character (ethos). Poethos might in fact be a better word for this were it not for persistent sociological contentions that matters of ethos are inherently value free. We can disagree about their implications, agree on their contingency, but values are an inextricable dimension of all human behavior. Our values are what we care about; they are always contingent; but there's too much at stake for values to be arbitrary.

Joan Retallack, The Poethical Wager