When I have spoken of work lateral to the self, you/someone may have wondered: what provides a basis of “truth” for the work? If the work does not come directly from the self, what gives it its justification, what it can be measured against—how can it “check out”? When work comes directly from the self, […]
To read what averts or what attracts?
September 30, 2013 by
[Originally written in June 2013] The simple answer is: do both. But with an emphasis on reading what attracts until it doesn’t attract any more. Once what attracts begins to sound the same—once you feel like a genre/subgenre/writer/work becomes monotone, move on…if your enthusiasm brought you enough motivation to reach the point of feeling exhaustion […]
The pleasures of the ’Pataphysical novel: The Exploits & Opinions of Dr. Faustroll, Pataphysician
September 30, 2013 by
My previous post on this subject focused on The Supermale. I had mentioned Opinions of Dr. Faustroll, Pataphysician, and now I’ll discuss the pleasures of its overt ’pataphysicality. Regarding Dr. Faustroll himself: Doctor Faustroll was sixty-three years old when he was born in Circassia in 1898 (the 20th Century was [-2] years old). Anomalies are […]
The pleasures of the ’Pataphysical novel: The Supermale
September 30, 2013 by
In a previous post, I considered what makes fiction a page-turner and how a page-turner often is richer in plot than language. But there is another factor I want to mention: the value of a novel creating its own system of reality. In other words, its own metaphysics. In still more other words, perhaps its […]
Region and Poetry, Part 3; or, Questions of Writing on Place
August 21, 2013 by
I recently spent five weeks in Ireland, the majority of the time in Cork City. I did write some while there (as can be seen in previous posts shared), but I write of it mostly now that I am gone. After exiting Gougane Barra, I spoke with a peer. I said that I tend to […]
The Shamrock: Bar/Lounge, Part 2; Roundstone; August 3, 2013
August 6, 2013 by
Poinsettias on the fireplace in August. The bartender says red after the black stuff will be heavy. The accordion player switches to guitar half the time. The two men with strings on their fingers. The pelvis a gathering point, a bowling, stirred. I am neighbored by Connemara whiskey, wet heat that starts in the mouth […]
The Shamrock: Bar/Lounge; Roundstone; August 3, 2013
August 6, 2013 by
I become stooled customer, foamed black at the bar. The bartender neat, pale red shirt, buttoned-tucked. Couples at tables, three girls at a vertex. A perimeter-man wants my eyes. I turn peripheral. His slur is a welcome I recognize but do not take. You could join us in our corner if you like… Selves double, […]
The Oliver Plunkett; July 27, 2013
July 28, 2013 by
Oliver Plunkett Pub pillars teach me Irish. Irish Coffee. It is wet. Pig. A lovely day. Salami and bacon in the greenery plate. Ribs reddened with sauce. Children game with appropriate boards and pieces. Three musicians are the sort who use hands: strings and then an accordion. Sound drenches the pub. The rain of singing […]
Gougane Barra; July 17, 2013
July 19, 2013 by
I enter Ireland’s award-winning water closet. Hut of orange innards. My skin a rind the midges suck. Mirror of panels of mirrors. I reflect incomplete, looking at my camera’s eye. Two dried teabags lie outside. Omens of heated thirst. Moss as brittle as the steep-less. The sound of sheep but they are miles across. The […]
Beach at Kinsale; July 12, 2013
July 15, 2013 by
After a bridge and hairpin path, the sand seeps into shoes. I am not good with such estimates, but probably 80 people. Barebutt babes led into the sea by their fathers. Barefoot in the water: crabs approach toes. Seaweed that pockets air floats. Seaweed that has alligator skin on its swim bladder. The green drying […]