I had more people upset with me yesterday that I dared to post a criticism of their time spent on Farmville then reactions to other far more critical and revealing posts I have done.
That, in and of itself, speaks to why I was moved to complain in the first place.
To choose to be simply entertained by distraction is a good thing. Like, the occasional potato chip or ice cream is a good thing too, but when it is something that you expend a disporportionate amount of concentration and effort on then it is escapism. Escapism with little to no redeeming qualities. Don’t get me started or I will take on WoW.
But I wound up having to put Opera on the crackberry so I could actually access all the sites and respond to the comments and emails. The native browser on the cb was just not up to the task and I have yet to learn how to really use it well. But, even so, I highly recm’d to anyone in cb land.
But all the getting wound up and complaining turned out to be good for me. I got involved with socialvibe and am now expanding on that network with other people involved with supporting “To Write Love on Her Arms” and I finally managed to sit and tackle the city again.
Editing and writing with an eye recently exposed to Ambrose Bierce and after a week or so of heavy thinking on the nature and role of the arts. As a result, the piece is beginning to come together and shape up. There are a few places where I recognize that I have managed to “do it right” and now have to go back and struggle to bring the rest of it up to snuff.
And struggle is the correct word. I spent an inordinate amount of time perusing poetry last night. Old poetry and contemporary poetry and the difference between the use of language and imagery is striking. I actually sat with some one I know (100s of miles away) and we swapped lines from mostly contemporary work and tried to figure out what they mean.
It made me realize that all I am coming to know about handling language I am learning now. That what I have been taught is this kind of modernized….lack of meaning and purpose that is not only present in our society and culture, but echoed in our language.
Its like looking at ad slogans and reading them for meaning. And by meaning I am not just talking about an absolute and sensical meaning, but even the nature of allusion. It has become incomplete. Hard to explain, I am trying to define it more succintly as it will become part of one of the online workshops.
When I look at work that is written with a succintness of choice – where words and phrases, even in their most metaphysical and abstract, are chosen with purpose and understanding (of what is a personal definition and what is a common definition) the pieces literally sing and last in my head long after I read them. There is a sense of sharing something, something being comminicated that maybe you don’t understand just yet – but there is a high chance that you will.
So here I am, looking at the words I chose and seeing that while in some cases they made such lyrical sense, the unintended conflict between their meaning and what I was trying to present undoes the line.
Sometimes it was because I chose a cliche or such a common word or phrase that it lacks any real presence anymore. Sometimes it was because I created a beautiful little phrase that meant absolutely nothing even in its metaphor and symbolism because it was neither strong enough to stand on its own or supported elsewhere.
Then, because I write in a narrative fashion, the holes started to appear in even the basic, rough, “I am not even close to being done” way I had written it.
the poem began to tell me what it wants.
the story began to speak,
the Gods within began to tell me to stop with my ceaseless prayers to them trying to define their roles and to listen.
and I have miles to go.
I wish I could just give it all of my waking hours. As it is, I think about it constantly so I am ready when I sit to write.
Now back to my trying to take care of things.
HELP ME WRITE LOVE ON HER ARMS