definer defined

all great writing is defined by receivership. there must be elitism and alienation.

certain books define an era, a genre, a time, a place. others do not. there are those books that define, and those that are defined. this leaves two kinds of readers: those that are defined by the texts that they read, and those that define the texts–the passive and the active.

it is the text-that-must-be-defined that is the more difficult to write, the more rewarding to read and it is these books also that, paradoxically, hold their place in history through their timelessness. they are rooted by their transience.

reading is more important than writing.

there must be a willingness for the author to remove himself from the text, in that way documented and recycled by many: the birth of the reader must be at the expense of the death of the author.

however, this is more than mere authorial etiquette (excuse me while i die, won’t you?). it is a concerned removal that must take place for the piece to be classed as great writing, but it can also only occur within a great piece of writing, for this removal occurs under the glare of human relationships.

this false altruism in which we allow another to discover something about themselves, through us (but of course, for us), happens constantly and consistently through life. on many occasions we emit a sense of who we are, without explanation or description–an autograph upon a period in one’s life. this practice is a continual shifting game of catch-up, of establishment, consolidation and rejection until we reach the point of self-knowledge, an area of contentment and settlement.

those that have influenced but not progressed, fade away. they have been defined, and they are transient and passive. those that have remained throughout the change, remain not simply as a bystander but as part of another’s life. they are definers, and are permanent and active.

we, as readers, must accept the challenge of the piece, we must play the game of catch-up and involve ourselves in the development. we must know when to admire and when to argue, when to embellish and when to accept. the reward is to be one of those permanent and active readers, to become lodged within the paragraphs of the text with as much right and purpose as the words themselves. in that way the text is defined and we are definers. the author may then rejoin his text.

what is important here is not definitions or roles, but rather the process itself. the emphasis is on transition, it’s necessity and its mechanisms. the process of reading a great work (that is defined by the reader) is a representation of the forging of human relationships. the process of reading a work that seeks to define (thus denying the reader’s role, and the entire process itself) is a representation of the forcing of human relationships.

the answer, my friends, is within the pages of those novels that wake you in the middle of the night with their incessant talking.

the after-poetry

the last syllable
of your poem
ran to the edge of the page
and fell into scripted silence.
and i was left holding
the alphabets of your whispers,
wondering if you will once again
gather the clouds of your words
and etch the calligraphy of the heart
across the azure lines on my sky.
your answer is the star-pierced
quiescence of the night sky,
the vast emptiness of the flyleaf
mourning the loss of verse,
the inarticulate maze of dead letters.
but your silence is not voiceless
for you taught me
that silence is an earlier language
learned from the womb of creativity.
unless i return to the womb
i will never know
the delight of being born again
into the poetry
that comes after your poetry.

where is your mind in this?

(originally uploaded by bullish1974.)

if you are lucky, it is nowhere to be found. just somewhere infinite with all the bellies thrown together. one bone-cracking noise breaks clearly through and no one there to listen.

postcard #5

anxiety realm approached with fluttering breath, eyelids firmed shut but peculiar form of hope drowns vision ahead of the actual physical barrier, mouth open and torn dreams of intimacy, those revolving pressures borne through absence, the vessel that expands as you fill it.

postcard #4

the tang of disappointment, a day broken later than hoped and very little activity embracing the scene. it is not at all a scene. there is no predetermination, nor a recognizable (or explainable) form. where is the focus? but wait: perhaps it is a scene after all. maybe i simply left the pause button on.

postcard #3

sitting, daytime, thinking of my other words (the ones i didn’t say), a fan lazily stirring a cliche–ha!–tables and linear production ethics, poetry and love-handles, a symbol is synonymous, a symbol is forever. coagulation of tempories upon a place–aha!–that is it, the coagulation of tempories! binding coincidence regulating the vagaries of the vague, ellipsis and alliteration. i found schools everyday; i am geographer, scientist and engineer.

postcard #2

remaining viable, writing small, eating bread, cheese and olives, trying to remonstrate with absence, these alien letters (glean the impression of handwriting), my hand removed from my own, wandering the page searching for a narrative and direction, denying william s burroughs (the greater man does not deny, but promotes and exercises). i deny, to be more precise, burroughsian denial, siphoning meaning from your words, the desolate accord featuring through me.

postcard #1

a corner, the smooth line of the wall, dusty suburbs, a task accomplished in the midday sun (more than one), stories (no, no more stories ever again?), a feeling of pulling away (and its beautiful necessity) and even the beauty of the reassurance of the knowledge of the feeling of the necessity of pulling away.