Sometimes instead of ordered and re-arranged garbage I want this blog to shout and scream in different colours and fonts, creating forms that are lyrical and sound sensical but really make no sense at all.
Would you call that a tantrum or art?
It’s an excuse mostly — the idea, because I have nothing in my head even approaching that kind of inspiration– at least right now– something I think I might need. Or perhaps the idea is just sound off and start, and let what happens be. I’ve read words to that effect before, written by someone who I consider a master of the form. That’s not what I want to do, not exactly, but the effect is the same.
I want to create a thick sine-wave of white noise, peppered with hot-moments which read easy and digest away. That sounds about as unreadable as it probably is. I want to mirror my head in the middle of one of my daily click-arounds. I’m writing something longer which I think is approaching that, in a very roundabout way. It’s not hard edges and jagged daggers of text, aimed at your heart. But maybe it transmits the basic experience, to one who knows well, or the confusion and head-fugue that unfalteringly arises to one who does not. It seems like an idea which balances over the dark-pit of text-failure. But I think most good ideas do. Done well, it could be a revelation. Half-done, you’d wish that I had never done it at all.
It’s funny because I’ve found it’s important to think about this stuff in the periods of not-write, like a captain descending below deck to prepare his next day’s charts– but that it is absolutely imperative that I leave them in the hands of the navigator when I sit down and start. Because otherwise all you get is tepid, too-meaningful prose. That makes me want to vomit.