Ever since Scott Pierce visited these parts, my forehead has felt strange. Every time I touch it, it feels like thin paper. Maybe rice paper?
In other news, I am writing some children's passages for a freelance gig (thanks to Todd Sandvik). The audience is lower income African American boys with low reading comprehension. It's really interesting toying around with sentence structures and seeing how it changes the Flesch-Kincaid Grade Level (under readability stats in Word).
Right now I am working on a short fiction piece about freedom fighters. I think it will take place just beyond a forest in a swamp.
Showed my Lit class Robert Frank's Pull My Daisy. They didn't laugh. Why?
Serious playfulness is seriously needed among students!
Also, interesting to see the review of Pull my Daisy in the NY Times.
NY Times Review
I am really enjoying reading Amy King's blog. I especially liked her statement about liking more personal poetry blogs. I've often felt I am not intellectual enough. Haven't read enough. Everyone is smarter than me etc.
Wearing knowledge lightly.
Intelligence is a constant conflict (parent's dropped out before high school level in Ireland and England). I mean I often feel guilty. I like the innocent stumbling. My head gets too full and I get too anxious.
Beer drinking and poetic discourse.
Also, wondering what Estonia is like this time of year. Damn sick of sweaty palms!
Is my forehead really paper?
I am reading Ann Waldman's Kill or Cure. How could I have missed her? Also, David Meltzer's David's Copy.
The NY School and Beat aesthetics are endlessly fascinating.
Collage is not a fashion. Information and language mutates. Collage is a technique and can produce different results.
High/low was dismantled, but I still have that damn pipe-smoking British chap in my head.
Intelligent people spoke the Queen's English.
I moved to England (Milton Keynes) and spoke with a Northern Irish accent. Sound tied to intelligence.
Maybe I should accept the luxuries I have instead of feeling guilty?
Guilt and religion. Fear and guilt. Knots and guilt.
I feel lonely somewhere in the pit of my stomach.
I will not commit myself to death just yet.
Melodramatic is too mellow. That's the problem.
Human touch is NOT overrated.
Paper IS underrated.