shit, this blog stuff... I don't want to write no poems, I want to vent and dilate. I haven't turned my handsome nose towards The Sophist by C Bernstein in mucho years but it is locateable in the stacks and Ron Silliman has presented the case. whereas I have enjoyed and respected Silliman's work, Bernstein's has not gotten thru my aesthetic barriers. not sure why. my plump middle class values have been rattled by these two as well as by many more. why does Silliman go for me and Bernstein hasn't so much? should CB be worried? CB read a couple years ago at a Boston convocation, very well, especially a lengthy piece that, as I recall, went on to explain why it wasn't a poem (Matvei Yankelvitch's performance saturday kindled a similar if not greater fire). and I believe I'm trying to make a point here. you know, sometimes, I'm an asshole, sometimes dull, sometimes I know something. this very well could be the case with other people. christ, I don't love poetry, I love certain writing. even certain writing full of uncertainties... please visit my real wriitng sites, linked to the right. see if I have a bottom line.