|This /||is /||not /||the /||journal /||of /||a man /||who /||is /||insane|
insane. It is the journal of a man who sometimes worries too much about the lines of cold sober text, looking back at a life over time, his collected works, analysed by the beaks of pens belonging to men who are certainly insane.
And in the future they will say something along the lines of “Self-aware to a fault, it’s unclear what xxxxe bxxxx means in the lines of poems like Dedication, whether he really alludes to this future or had other, more complicated, motives in mind. It is a contradiction we find in many examples of in his work. In his lone commercial success, …And I Woke in a Cold Crater on the Desolate Moon, it manifests itself in the form of the protagonist, Arby Jones, who expresses plans for the future even as he is in the act of killing himself, or professes his love after he is already dead.”