I lay here typing, all too eager to finish
Fumbling through vocabulary, pushing aside thoughts of a “reading” break
so tantalizingly near.
I wonder – what to write that will be smart, reflective, thoughtful enough to get the job done, to please the crowd. Forget that. Blogs are worthless without authenticity. Make it mine
but. follow the rules. How about Language poetry? Such irritating meaninglessness…
I consider Spahr’s fusion of meaning and meaninglessness, of yous and beloveds, when I become guiltily aware of my me, my I, my my, oh my. My self absorption.
Aware of my lyrical preface, aware of my contentment to be contained in my skin, aware of the academic undertaking – you must know, you must care, open your mind, open your skin,
close the classroom door.
Contempt for my lyrical apathy, contempt for ambitious individualism. Contempt for language’s limitations
You’re irrelevant, you’re relevant. A solution, a problem. Are the privileged obligated to know and care? Are they obligated to act?
What use is knowing without action? Nothing (Everything).
Only an immobilizing web of fear and despair
Meaningless.
knowledge is a noun. to know is a verb. a verb is an action word
is knowing an action? presently.
how to know?
I don’t know.
I lay here typing (in bed, go figure). Finished, and unsatisfied.
__________
Finding it difficult to write anything coherent on Juliana Spahr’s avant garde poetry, this blog was a shot in the dark. Literally, in bed in the darkness. I find that reading back on it, I puke at my own pretentiousness and the irony of it all, so if you feel that way about it – know that I’m with you. Yet it did make me appreciate some of the intricacies of Spahr’s writing – given that I wrote it while laying in my bed, ineffectually trying to synthesize impossible contradictions, thinking about big things with little success, great ignorance (probably), and no positive impact despite all the hoping.
sources – Juliana Spahr, the connection of everyone with lungs