From becoms form and my form becoms forgotten as I spew screeds onto the screen. Back stiff, fingers numb, bum solidifies.... what the hell?
Monday, February 11, 2008
I've seen the main quad at midnight too many times this summer. I think I know all of the campus security guards My broken hairs are scattered over the desk Layers of my scum are building up on the edges of the keyboard
At times my mind races incredibly - I skimmed through foucault's the order of things yesterday, digging in, foraging bits, throwing them together in some crazy soup.
At other times I feel like Lautreamont's character in the chant du maldoror... welded to this desk, I feel accretions of this space, of me, are slowly fusing into their own (gasp) becomings.
Maybe I should have gone to yoga tonight.
I have spent so many hours here, mouth shut, fingers splaying, dancing fits across the keyboards.... pulling my hair, pissing, drinking a lot of water, timing myself by my bladder, my my mouth, the rhythms of the air conditioning....
I live off fruit, muesli, 2-minute noodles, choy sum, couscous, tinned tuna, cheese singles, peppermint tea.
I've given up coffee.
this is terrifying, exhilarating, delightful, delirious intensity. Somewhere in the middle of this i've fallen madly in love.
the tome. the end. it's not far now.
I won't be finished by the time I'm 37, but hopefully before I'm 38.
chapter's writhe their way out of me, squirming strange delights - of schlonky typing, poor referencing, footnotes trailing off into half thoughts... to many conclusions! not enough signposting! so many openings, endless openings opening endlessly up before me.....
and now I have found another book roughly in my area - which I have to repudiate in order to hedge my little piece of scholarly turf... which is one of the strangest amalgams of conversational philosophy and catty critique I've ever come across.
I remember looking at my paintings 6 years ago and thinking "christ! they are as idiosyncratic as the wrinkles on my vulva!' and here again I'm confronted with my own insistent subjectivity... madcap adenoidal ramblings through skeins of ideas, conversations, propositions.... seventy five thousand words and counting.....
so... yeah, slowly... so slowly it's chugging along
How do you convey emotion, frenzy, stupidity overtiredness on a goddamm preformatted preset fixed font frame? Partly its paranoia - so my words don't get cut and pasted in some morons bloody plagiarised essay, or some clever dicks plagiarsied bloody thesis, but mostly - I wnat you to stumble and trip and slide through my slurring, slipping, striding, screaming missives, as I type them. Life is always more interesting in the cracks between stuff.