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Disarm the Horses

reread Tony Tost's Disarm the settlers at Typo and thinking about programs. My cousin visitied from Ireland two summers ago and found it really strange we kept introducing people as: this is so and so, he's from the program. Which reminds of: the church. The church says. . .
As if everyone belonged to the said speaker's church.

I also read some Adorno and felt guilty about watching the t.v. show Angel. But is popular culture just straight evil across the board? I don't feel less political. Vote vampire etc.

I find some pleasure in Bob Hicok. I find myself wanting to stick to the gun but unable. I have too many likes that divide.

I like the idea of the one from the many rather than the many from the one (whose blog did I read?) So many voices knocking about knocking me off. How can I choose just one? They are all so compelling.

So I want interest. I get tired of the little dictator self telling my other selves how to act talk walk.

I am not the driver of the chariot. I am the wild horses.

I remember Bruce Beasley telling me about the relationship between making it new and reading wide and deep. He said take a little Heaney add a little Palmer and Tate, a dab of Lorca and O' Hara and what do you get? Something damn new.

So again how to distinguish the new for the sake of new from the new as genuine new? I want to wake up. Recreate the world.

Recreation gets such a bad name in the puritanical capitalist work till you die state of responsible drones.

Must we take ourselves so seriously. Who or what self is the dictator of other selves? Let them dance I say. Let them bloody well dance! And I don't mean the waltz or foxtrot. Those days are gone.

I thought I was rural. Because all the good Irish poets are rural. Mr. Heaney et all. But Mr. Heaney isn't et all. I loved Heaney (first love) but I am tired of his voice. My mind is the buzz and bootstomp of the city. I am not pastoral I am not pastoral. But I can still love the birds.





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Maurice Scully, The Basic Colours. Durham, UK: Pig Press, 1994.
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