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The Paretheticals Receive Different Voicing

Recently, I’ve been working on The Novel (which really isn’t a novel so much at all), but also this series of prose poems. The tone of the prose poems a friend of mine described as somewhat frightening (when I began writing them, I was in a place of inkiest blackness). But I like them, because they are like the distilled, dried, fermented residue of sensations that brought me low, low, low indeed. (Typical self-indulgent writerly stance.) They seem to go together in a roughly narrative way, or as close to narrative as I can be bothered to attempt. Because narrativity is, in its own way, as tiresome as a work schedule. (Decadence.) Anyway, these prose poems I want to polish into a more or less finished series and send to Abe’s Penny for perhaps maybe them to perhaps maybe publish, or perhaps maybe to not. Either way, I’ll have a more or less polished and finished series of things to read the next time I get the chance. At least, something that I’ve written in the last six months, unlike all the other junk I’ve been sitting on for years. There’s some music here, if you listen hard enough. (Which is very hard in truth.)

Categories: Notes.

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