Tuesday, October 26, 2004

nice to see Henry Gould's cuddly side. I have my own equivocal sense about certain targets, as in, sometimes I just want to sass, and sometimes I recognize that sass is something desperate in me. or not desperate, what the hell, but at least a strong sensation of how I am or am not somewhere. do you (meaning that happenstance of reader, also writer, here reading these 'my' words (invented clauses in sample sentences)) think that you are somewhere all the time? or even anywhere? if you were successful as a writer or poet, what would that entail, and who would you be? that's a juicy question we'd all best leave alone. Dickinson and Rimbaud said screw it, finally, the fund drives of their 'careers'. which I don't hold up as a route more efficacious than other selections, only noting an option. I'm just trying to get along, and sometimes that means snipping, sometimes it means asking huhn? sometimes it means a gleeful pointing. there are things I haven't done and won't do for my 'career', one of which is using the word 'career' without applying quotes. I sleep okay, but of course the world is too much with us all.
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