My dear _______,
You wouldn’t just know ‘this’, so I’ll tell you. It should be known, though you will have ignored the signs, that I am weak. I know how this will hurt you, so let me make it clear. Now, I’ve said this before, again and again and again -- this must stop. No mas!
Jack has been jack-nothing for far too long… Longing to be other than nothing, more, nothing more. Jack chalks this up to jack, the one who takes your call. Jack waxing, you see, is not the problem – Jack is a symptom, made a problem, perhaps by an unreasonable, almost immediate desire for another than the ‘other’, any other, any other place – someone elsewhere. One can’t reason this, but Jack will try. This is where Jack becomes jack, becomes lack. I. Nothing will continue; everything will fall into decay – my own refusal of the moment… Forget it. Leave this behind, in the rubble of the immediate, the temporary, the moment that forms the “I am gone now” … It would be easier just to forget. I am certain you will find Jack mad in this, but it is the fucking truth… Pardon my French -- Jack apologizes.
jack continues.
And become tiresome.
jack continues.
And remain mysterious.
jack continues.
Already lost.
jack continues.
jack continues saying nothing.
jack continues without risk.
jack continues.
So, Jack stops.
Like Switzerland, Jack will not take a stand, which you may consider a mistake. A self-conscious, damaged, mad self-image. Only you would know. Jack can’t tell anymore.
Three predictions:
1. She won’t be able to keep the secret.
2. She will want to simplify things.
3. jack-obsession will destroy this.
When you are careless; Jack cares more, tears flow, and he only makes it worse -- my sorry Jack of Hearts. In Spades. Remembering the cuts; the willing wounds, and desertion. Forgotten daydreams.
Jack follows fancy backwards, toward uncertain ends … Imagining a future through the past … by way of … jack, and so imagines a classical future, recycled. Jack sees the future in the teardrop. Blinded by the impossible… Unexplainable fecula fills his mind.
So, Jack continues.
Love
Me!
2007/08/31
2007/08/30
The Demons of Color
Jack spent most of the night whining about this or that, sifting through the notes and chronicles, the clutter that filled his head. This was the first step, he thought, toward regaining full composure, toward revealing the impostor that he believed was occupying his space, his body, replacing what he thought was authentic with a fiberglass harlequin dressed in red, purple, and orange. Jack understood the symbology of the color scheme, it seemed simple enough -- red for lust; purple for passion; orange for honor, but why he was being replaced by a harlequin baffled him.
What did the harlequin have to do with lust, passion, or honor? For that matter, Jack wondered what lust, passion, and honor had to do with him. He then began to doubt his symbolic color system. It seemed too simple, too black and white. He thought that perhaps by complicating the symbology the reason for the harlequin, of the harlequin, and why the impostor of Jack was a harlequin would become clear to him.
These six demons face the sea. Their re-conglomeration takes what it can from these previous bodies, relocates the parts and molds a form from what has been pillaged.
What was secondary now becomes primary to the demons-becoming-demon ... But, still six demons remain.
Any demon that is not used in the conglomerate is mixed with a fluid medium -- in this case, Baltic Sea water, and then applied to the new form.
As a surface, an old book will do fine but requires a process of erasure and must be combined with additional objects prior to the application of the war paint. A found key might be used as well but the lock it fits must first be lost or destroyed.
Anything will do in a pinch as long as there is a destructive preparatory process.
What did the harlequin have to do with lust, passion, or honor? For that matter, Jack wondered what lust, passion, and honor had to do with him. He then began to doubt his symbolic color system. It seemed too simple, too black and white. He thought that perhaps by complicating the symbology the reason for the harlequin, of the harlequin, and why the impostor of Jack was a harlequin would become clear to him.
The wise-cracking Chump uses his flamboyant tongue to show his neediness.
The Funambulist finds justice in fantasies of danger.
The enthusiastic Foil uses sophisticated rhetoric to wish the kingpin good luck.
The cruelty of Jake fills the body with unnatural energy.
The Mountebank uses a balanced profanity to make his claims digestible.
The Revolutionary Picador proceeds warmly toward excess.
The Funambulist finds justice in fantasies of danger.
The enthusiastic Foil uses sophisticated rhetoric to wish the kingpin good luck.
The cruelty of Jake fills the body with unnatural energy.
The Mountebank uses a balanced profanity to make his claims digestible.
The Revolutionary Picador proceeds warmly toward excess.
These six demons face the sea. Their re-conglomeration takes what it can from these previous bodies, relocates the parts and molds a form from what has been pillaged.
What was secondary now becomes primary to the demons-becoming-demon ... But, still six demons remain.
The cowardly Polymath finds tranquility in envy.
The Arbiter of deceit is on the verge of changing his mind.
The technology of the jealous Pundit is not without its charm.
The illness of the Aristocrat is a hazard of loyalty
The confident Pragmatist uses vigorous persuasion
The intellect of the Quidnunc relies on the profanity of luck.
The Arbiter of deceit is on the verge of changing his mind.
The technology of the jealous Pundit is not without its charm.
The illness of the Aristocrat is a hazard of loyalty
The confident Pragmatist uses vigorous persuasion
The intellect of the Quidnunc relies on the profanity of luck.
Any demon that is not used in the conglomerate is mixed with a fluid medium -- in this case, Baltic Sea water, and then applied to the new form.
As a surface, an old book will do fine but requires a process of erasure and must be combined with additional objects prior to the application of the war paint. A found key might be used as well but the lock it fits must first be lost or destroyed.
Anything will do in a pinch as long as there is a destructive preparatory process.
2007/08/25
A Lesser Apocalypse
Lesson 1: night 1
jack-destiny tells us...expiate the rustic moxie...
supplement radial cogitation with waggish wastefulness...
return to the carnival.
______ moved to K-town to get away from her boyfriend. Rather, to be with her boyfriend, which was an impossibility since he was behind bars serving time for some nameless petty crime. It had been six months since she'd seen him and although she remained faithful to him she was having doubts about the relationship. Together, when they were together, which had only been for two-weeks prior to his incarceration, they would spend their days and nights dreaming the Bonnie and Clyde dream. Living the dream was another matter. Impossible really, considering the smallness of the place -- and even beyond the limits of K-town their world was small... They only knew The City as an idea, though ______ had been their once, passing through on her way to Las Vegas. What they knew of the hyper-urbanity of The City had mostly come from television, from cinema, from the myriad songs written in its honor.
Lesson 2: night 1
jack-destiny tells us...avoid the happy couple...
a prefiguration of suspect bliss.
What Jack wants and what Jack gets are entirely different,
though both fall under the heading of the grudge.
It was Las Vegas that appealed to Bunny and prior to her life with Clod she had stayed there for a short while. Married by Dead-Elvis, on a whim, to some White Knight who would soon prove himself gray if not black... The knight, the Black Knight was Clod to her Bunny back then, so the pattern of this story begins before the story itself. At least, as Jack knows it.
Lesson 3: day 2
jack-destiny tells us...the saccharine aspect of Jack is sapped by reckless lubbery...
conspire with the sitting duck...
sanction bullish happenstance.
Bunny, ______ found Jack at the Flaxen Anger the night he said he wouldn't visit the pub. It wasn't until later that they actually met... ______ found Jack sitting alone, drinking alone, silent and alone. This, then, may be the beginning of the beginning. At least, a beginning... ______ wasn't looking for Clod that night, not another, but something else, something different. She already had a hardened hero in her bestiary and the scars to prove it, so she wanted something more in the vein of a chicken-hearted daredevil, a real dogged rabbit. For the moment, Jack seemed to fit the bill.
Lesson 4: day 2
jack-destiny tells us...the crespucule of habits brings the unknown...
embrace the double whammy.
Lesson 5: night 2
jack-destiny tells us...solitude is jack-revival...
but abatement falls to boredom...
consort, cavort, careen...
contain the mirthless jack-ass.
2007/08/23
Critics
On
the street,
Dead-Elvis, the poet and his shoeshine-wife Dirty
meet Jack.
Today, Jack wouldn't wax.
the street,
Dead-Elvis, the poet and his shoeshine-wife Dirty
meet Jack.
Off
they go.
They steal some instant coffee and
head to Jack's flat.
The coffee is good and warm;
it tastes like shit – nothing like coffee.
They drink it anyway and talk
about how jaded they are,
how they only want each other out of boredom.
But, they don't... They just sit there
bored,
jaded, expecting and doing nothing.
They each think that the other has the stuff so
they don't mention it.
That would be bad junky etiquette.
Waiting, simple hints, more crappy coffee.
They all knew they were waiting for the same things to change,
for sobriety to be erased by narcotic affection,
for the other to offer it up first.
It's good to be thrifty with prices these days.
Today, Jack wouldn't wax.
2007/08/22
Fool's Gold
The Arsonist bored a hole into Jack and poured in en förtrollande brygga och en mystiker spritdryck. He called this cocktail medicine. Though initially the drink made Jack feel much better, the effect soon took a staggering turn. Jack became jack-ass and decided to leave K-town for The City (not The City but The City). It didn't really happen (this way), but this is how Jack remembers it.
As jack-ass, Jack was polyamorous and the stars took note. They laughed and chortled, content with looking down on him -- he was an ass after all. They didn't understand Jack's circumstance. Jack brayed at the heavens, scolding the stars and planets for their outrageous insults, reminding them that he was once as high and mighty as they -- Asellus Borealis. The heavens were caught by surprise by Jack's blustery confrontation and quickly apologized. They had forgotten.
Jack accepted their apologies but the braying continued. They had offered no restitution.
Everybody knows the story, silence is golden... Right?
In general, especially in forgotten fairytales and minor-mythologies Jack and jack-ass have always been interchangeable. They come from the same picaresque tradition. It is only their bodies that differ. Even so, they are made from the same thing.
So, it should come as no surprise then that our Jack was an asinanthrope. In actuality, the Arsonist's elixir had little to do with Jack becoming jack-ass. This just comes naturally to Jack -- though usually after visits with the Arsonist of Flaxen Anger. Jack knew that he could sleep it off.
As jack-ass, Jack was polyamorous and the stars took note. They laughed and chortled, content with looking down on him -- he was an ass after all. They didn't understand Jack's circumstance. Jack brayed at the heavens, scolding the stars and planets for their outrageous insults, reminding them that he was once as high and mighty as they -- Asellus Borealis. The heavens were caught by surprise by Jack's blustery confrontation and quickly apologized. They had forgotten.
Jack accepted their apologies but the braying continued. They had offered no restitution.
Everybody knows the story, silence is golden... Right?
Just the facts Jack.
In general, especially in forgotten fairytales and minor-mythologies Jack and jack-ass have always been interchangeable. They come from the same picaresque tradition. It is only their bodies that differ. Even so, they are made from the same thing.
So, it should come as no surprise then that our Jack was an asinanthrope. In actuality, the Arsonist's elixir had little to do with Jack becoming jack-ass. This just comes naturally to Jack -- though usually after visits with the Arsonist of Flaxen Anger. Jack knew that he could sleep it off.
2007/08/21
jack-domain
Jack never planned on being an incovenience but jack-being, perhaps all being just is. Justice. Knowing being is knowing nothing but the horror, the horror of one's self against another. Contrasting horror, the horror of the self against the suspect perfection, the horror of another; she can be nothing less than perfect, even in imperfection -- refractions, indiscrections cloud things, but the horror remains. Perfectly.
Off in the distance... The smell of rotting fish contaminates the neighborhood. Except there; where she stands. Standing contrary to, completely against the nauseating odor that signals Jack has made it home. Lemon oil, coconut oil, sweet intoxicating vanilla -- she stands for something. She stands against Jack. She is determined to destroy him. She is opium. More potent.
This space belongs to Jack.
He tries his best to scare her away, to deny her access, to push away, to push the limits. Still, she remains.
This space belongs to Jack!
He'll take as much as he can, like too much chocolate cake, too much sashimi. Still, she remains and this is the root of horror now -- that she becomes too quickly the queen of jack-domain, incorporated into Jack's terrifying empire.
In the cold New England autumn air so crisp and wintry though the leaves have not yet turned, Jack is more apt to wait for tragedy, assuming that it will emerge out of the horror, carried skyward with the smell of rotting fish, toward the other, the already, always perfect other.Jack wonders, waits for this to develop … Patience, patience ... For the crypt to be opened like his mouth … For his mouth to open and introduce the conclusion of the meeting, the confrontation. Jack is a sucker for his own patience, the insufferable waiting for the end.
Off in the distance... The smell of rotting fish contaminates the neighborhood. Except there; where she stands. Standing contrary to, completely against the nauseating odor that signals Jack has made it home. Lemon oil, coconut oil, sweet intoxicating vanilla -- she stands for something. She stands against Jack. She is determined to destroy him. She is opium. More potent.
This space belongs to Jack.
He tries his best to scare her away, to deny her access, to push away, to push the limits. Still, she remains.
This space belongs to Jack!
He'll take as much as he can, like too much chocolate cake, too much sashimi. Still, she remains and this is the root of horror now -- that she becomes too quickly the queen of jack-domain, incorporated into Jack's terrifying empire.
In the cold New England autumn air so crisp and wintry though the leaves have not yet turned, Jack is more apt to wait for tragedy, assuming that it will emerge out of the horror, carried skyward with the smell of rotting fish, toward the other, the already, always perfect other.Jack wonders, waits for this to develop … Patience, patience ... For the crypt to be opened like his mouth … For his mouth to open and introduce the conclusion of the meeting, the confrontation. Jack is a sucker for his own patience, the insufferable waiting for the end.
…THE END…
The smell of something rotting - an egg, a body, fish, something - fills the air. On smelling this profanity, she tugs Jack's elbow, squeezes his arm. A gesture that is not performed out of affection; rather, she tugs and squeezes out of fear and disgust. Always.
2007/08/20
Cloud Cuckoo Land
There is a short circuit... Rather, an exposed wire, fully charged, sending sparks flying. Jack uses caution. He whispers and sips rather than screaming and gulping. He will leave that to others. For now, Jack pretends at attraction, maintains a low profile; lumbering gracefully around the perimeter. Getting his feet wet. Gray ... Jack thinks he knows what he's doing ... he looks the part -- wide eyed, tongue out, leaning forward just a bit; sometimes his face shows what appears to be the hint of grin, childish almost, that of an expert dilettante. He lost his way. Jack enters the wrong neighborhood and is met at dawn by harpies disguised as muses. Throwing caution to the wind, Jack joins the carnival. He knows it won't last, carnivals never do. They are untenable as monuments... Blockades that cause detours ... vortices ... within vortices. Jack joins this circus, gets his feet wet. There is no shortcut.
Jack took it in stride and the nonchalance began to pay off. HA!
PARABASIS
Execestides (Jack) had already made his exit, leaving the warzone for higher ground, carried aloft by the harpies disguised as muses. First there were three -- the dove, the pigeon, the swallow... Then there were four -- the owl, the kestrel, the osprey, the falcon... Then there were nine -- made up of these original seven with the addition of the buzzard, and finally the cuckoo.
Execestides tried his best to fit in but was always at odds with the sky-circus harpies. He never liked taking orders and quickly grew annoyed with the constant pecking. He decided to put his foot down. He demanded from the harpies that he have his own room. Execestides put a deadbolt on the door to keep the harpies out but this lead to a different annoyance,
(knock, knock)
Who's there?
(knock, knock)
Who's there?
(knock, knock)
Who's there?
Everyone got a big kick out of annoying Execestides.
Execestides (Jack) had already made his exit, leaving the warzone for higher ground, carried aloft by the harpies disguised as muses. First there were three -- the dove, the pigeon, the swallow... Then there were four -- the owl, the kestrel, the osprey, the falcon... Then there were nine -- made up of these original seven with the addition of the buzzard, and finally the cuckoo.
Execestides tried his best to fit in but was always at odds with the sky-circus harpies. He never liked taking orders and quickly grew annoyed with the constant pecking. He decided to put his foot down. He demanded from the harpies that he have his own room. Execestides put a deadbolt on the door to keep the harpies out but this lead to a different annoyance,
(knock, knock)
Who's there?
(knock, knock)
Who's there?
(knock, knock)
Who's there?
Everyone got a big kick out of annoying Execestides.
Jack took it in stride and the nonchalance began to pay off. HA!
2007/08/19
Jack of Hearts
My dear _______,
As may be obvious by now, Jack feels he must explain, though an explanation may be entirely gratuitous -- too much, as it were... As may be obvious by now, though perhaps not, as jack-ego may have not allowed this to show through, Jack is something of a hopeless – which is to say beyond belief, beyond therapy or any other form of helpfulness, perhaps just hopeless – romantic – which is to say Jack is, emotionally, mostly in a daydream or a nightmare, or some sort of cinematic play. At least what can be said in all of this is that Jack is aware of ‘this’... And, so hyper-sensitive to it. Writing, waxing as he goes. Improvising, no -- riffing. Nothing of ‘this’ is spontaneous; rather, it is the contrivance of it all that forms the block, the wall, the never-ending interruption of feeling, once felt.
For too long now Jack has been a nomad, a hopeless, hapless wanderer. Job to job, place to place, person to person... And, Jack chalks some of ‘this’ up to that. Jack places the call. ‘This’ is not a problem in itself -- it is a symptom. One could reason this as such, and Jack does – the hopeless nomad has a lack of time. This is where lack becomes jack, becomes Jack. The nomad is the perpetual gleaner – finding what works best, what works most, in the moment... Finding, forging forgetting. Amongst the rubble of the immediate, the temporary, the moment that forms the “Jack is here now”, finding, forging, forgetting what could be construed as simply convenient. To a certain degree this may be true, and Jack is certain you will find Jack mad in this, but at another level there is only sincerity, and longing for a longer time –to know, to be, to rest... pour obtenir... pour savoir... plus de temps... pour Jack à reposer... Jack's French is bad, so Jack apologizes.
Jack stops short.
And become tiresome.
Jack stops short.
And remain mysterious.
Jack stops short.
And continues lost.
Jack stops short while jack continues.
Jack stops short of saying anything.
Jack stops short of risk.
Jack stops.
So, jack continues.
Neutrality is nothingness without being, so Jack is ghost. An apparition, aberration. A mistake. A mirror, broken, funhouse, again ... selfless, elseless, otherless. A mirror, a window, tinted, reflective. Self...ish/less... Jack no longer knows.
Three memories:
1. Her friends were socialites, so Jack was kept a secret.
2. Her life was too complex and she thought Jack simple.
3. There could never have been a “we,” an “us” beyond Jack's mentioning.
When atmospheric pressure is lower than the internal pressure of a tree, sap flows, bleeds from the cut. Which, explains this sorry Jack of Hearts. Predicting short-circuits, the goodbyes and farewells; the lack of will, and concern for what is fair. Time, timeless, less time... Still, Jack wonders who, really, wishes that Jack fare well... So soon forgotten.
Jack daydreams, follows fancy toward uncertain ends ... Imagining a future as if determined ... By want, by will, by way... Jack doesn’t forget, and so imagines a future with the world, gleaned; a future with the fantastic. Imagines... Jack sees the future in a broken crystal ball, at the facets edge, merging ‘this’ with that. Jack sees nothing but what can be, in the mind’s eye – the impossible... The indescribable fabula of the imagination fills his time, here and there.
So, jack continues.
Love?
Jack
2007/08/18
Preface Redux
… puppy love, just drifted away, never really was exclusive, too catholic, too aloof, She got into cocaine and Jack thought that shit was jack, She was too young for Jack, She was obsessed with Tarot, their politics collided, Jack always thought she felt ashamed to be seen with him, Jack met her at a bus stop and then they went to her place -- Jack left in less than an hour, She only liked Jack because he scared her, they only ever really flirted, Jack became obsessively needy, her parents disapproved, there was just too much history, Jack was just a fling, one day she was just gone – vanished with all her belongings, Jack went away to school, She got bored, Jack wanted her more than she wanted him, she was a pathological liar, she wanted a family – now, her band sucked, he was too shy against her shyness, she was married, Jack thought that She thought herself better than Jack, the sex was really bad, She was too old for Jack, it was all pretend, Jack was too serious, She was weak, She ordered a California roll, She’d devoted her life to promiscuity, Jack was allergic to her iguana, he lost her at a rave, she became a vegan, Jack never quite figured out why, She was out of his league and nothing should have been started in the first place, Jack always felt slightly ashamed to be seen with her, Jack went broke, Jack knew he was asking too much of her but jack got the better of Jack, the earthquake ruined everything, She was too needy, he caught her with another man -- an actor none-the-less, She moved out of the country, Jack caught her stealing objects from his flat, Jack was weak, She thought his band sucked, “I’m getting married next week.” She said, Jack thought her art was mediocre, She was bi-polar and Jack got tired of the violence that occurred when she went off her meds, she perspired too much, Jack got jealous, Jack got bored …
These are how it always ends.
The hopeless _________, a preface.
2007/08/17
Gardin Note
NOTE
The holes in the wall were too large or too small,
not level, too close, too far apart.
It would take 1 700 Crowns in all,
due to faulty hardware and improper tools.
The re-fabrication of the myth would not begin
until this task was complete...
the curtain could not open on the saga,
close on the previous...
and the mixtry would remain mystery.
The holes in the wall were too large or too small,
not level, too close, too far apart.
It would take 1 700 Crowns in all,
due to faulty hardware and improper tools.
The re-fabrication of the myth would not begin
until this task was complete...
the curtain could not open on the saga,
close on the previous...
and the mixtry would remain mystery.
Gray Matters
... gray ... colder than it has been ... it rained all night ... Jack left the window open anyway ... three by the time he went to bed ... sitting in the same spot ... at the same corner ... having the same thing ... the daily constitutional ... later, though he'd gotten an early start ... he spent the morning working ... he had not yet eaten, wouldn't till later in the day ... as usual, though this added nothing to his well-being ... an old habit ... old habits pile one upon another ... two rough-and-tumble, perhaps nicotine addicted pigeons fight over a cigarette butt, then a crust of bread, then another butt ... pigeon-one, the smaller of the two wins in every case ... wide-eyed and chirping unnaturally ... sounding like a whining puppy.
Jack waits for the the familiar ... it will not arrive today ... will it? It's all greek to Jack ... except for the routine ... seated, drinking the same ... She looks like... They seem to be... Jack looks and listens ... one might think he is learning something ... one might think he is busy ... Jack waits for the familiar ... will it arrive today? Nej ... perhaps ... no matter ... what Jack wants is untranslatable ... foreign ... she is staring at Jack, Jack thinks ... she's not looking at jack -- waiting for someone -- she doesn't know jack about Jack ... unfamiliar ... her gaze doesn't translate ... He looks like ... They are ... Jack can only guess.
NOTE
Though Jack had claimed he had not
visited the pub the next night,
indeed he did.
The sun comes out.
2007/08/15
Curtains for Curtains
"Living so close to the Flaxen Anger is going to be dangerous."
Jack thought as he staggered home too early to be doing so. It was a long day and a short night, förlägenheten av hans sommar ankomst.
Tomorrow would come too soon, at five, or earlier -- with the sunrise and he pondered with darkened trepidation the prospects of his forced encounter with sommars dagen tidigt ljus ... knowing another long day would follow... meeting after meeting. Jack needed his keys, his mode of entrance and so much information -- taxes, conditions, a description of his responsibilities. It was difficult to think just now but Malloy, or Bloom, perhaps some character from Proust was trying to find the glue. What made him come to K-town, to this place, what made him want to stay. (etc.) He smiled at not knowing a damn thing...
As predicted, Jack awoke too early again and watched the sun emerge from behind the five-story apartment building across the courtyard. It was silent but for hungry birds clamoring for a breakfast gleaned from the moist patch of lawn.
"All is well."
he thought, falling now into a proper routine of daily busyness. Of business; of sustaining, though as yet suspect purpose. He would skip the pub the next night, writing instead, working instead despite it being a Friday. He didn't want to drink alone just yet, still feeling self-conscious about difference, about language. Even the mundane service questions made him nervous ... though he sometime understood full well what was being asked, Jack had not the skills to respond -- without elaborate mental activity involving translation to and from his and their native tongues. It was only a matter of time, he thought, before this anxiety would subside and some other mode of nervousness would emerge. His horoscope confirmed this, letting him know what he already knew. He must replace the inherited curtains.
2007/08/14
Beginning to Begin.
This began in The City but will begin in K-town. Jack found himself in K-town not by accident but suddenly aware of middle-age, his own, and suddenly aware of being desparately alone ... not lonely, but alone. Previously, none of this had bothered him or mattered much as the recognition of being always seemed enough. But, now, for now he saw himself as a thing outside of himself -- an other even to his I. Though still contained within his self, himself, this other seemed a mismatch -- outside of his body, or how he understood it... It was as it was... Is as it is, as this is being written now, a postscript to the sensation, an epilogue to the saga that ends here. He had not thought to write the saga before this, until now ... For, this is Jack waxing. The saga had until now belonged to a separate tradition, a less literate tradition based in bar-time anecdotes, name-dropping, and non-sequential storytelling... blabber really. Still, Jack hoped, hopes to re-fabricate the myth here -- to rewrite, edit the self toward itself -- to cut and paste the I upon its absence here -- from memory and what occurs in the immediate... Blasted, mixed, commingled -- a mongrel constitution more significant to his own well-being than that of any reader, any possible reader, editor, or critic.
This, then, is today, any day, written through contemporaneous moments of inspiration and invention... Desperate, nostalgic, and cynically optimistic ... forgetting the immediate at the expense of the living moment, the living monument -- architecturally, a mausoleum ... mortar and marble, stacks of children's blocks, a wood framed shanty ... the ticky-tacky flat of the now and ever more, ever been ... a mixtry of hereness and thereness -- knowing neither.
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