Thursday, 11 March 2010

tuesday#3

1.7am he attempts to feed the crows in the park - only attempts because there's nothing he has with him that they'd want to eat.
contemplates feeding the crows with the pigeons
the crows pull stuff out of the ground churned up by the machinery, they eat it, whatever it is.
he counts the magpies - 6 for silver


2."I don't know why you still come here"
(to steal your books and make it with your stepson?)
oh, you know, because - he looks around the room for inspiration
because - I learn so much from you


3. "you want me to follow you home?" it was a question, he thought. I didn't - hadn't - but now that you mention it? and he walks off not that unsteadily in the direction of the river.

4 comments:

  1. Crypto-meh. #2 is extremely hot, of course. feeding the crows w the pigeons is cute, but what's it all add up to, except random fucked-up-ness and drifting? Why 6? Why not the boy or the girl or the secret never to be told? What's the last line about? Not that unsteady, that's being fucked-up again, but what about the home, the river? Too little context to be anything but a scene seen as if from a train passing by too quick to make any sense.

    Of course it's kinda a nice summary of a lot of your writing: A layer of seemingly random observation tinged by morbidity (crows/pigeons), around a core of loveless sex and exploitation, steeped in cryptic lack of reference, casual mention of substance abuse (or rather self-abuse with substances, lol), and some definite but to the reader necessarily meaningless locality, adding up to a feeling of profound horny lostness.

    When you publish all of them in a book, you could put this on the back cover. ^_^

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  2. uh - maybe cos there were - 6?

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  3. Didn't someone once say about writing that "it really happened" is the worst excuse? Like, the bench you sat on had a certain number of boards, the path through the park was of a certain material. You don't mention the weather, or if there were other peeps in the park, etc. You chose what comes into the story. (And are you really all that scientifically true and factual with everything? No artistic licence to change the number of magpies - or even the sort of birds - to achieve something in the telling? After all the seven year old in the other story was "just a metaphor"...)

    You mention the magpies, the number, and the nursery rhyme. By that you make it meaningful. Only... what meaning? (I'm not even saying there isn't any. Actually, I am certain that there is some. I just can't make it out. Unless it is - once again - the very meaninglessness of it all, the utter random, directionless fuck-up-ness of everything... hence my deduction that your obsession is with the disappointing lack of profundity of things. Which may be wrong for what you want to write, I don't know. But is it really wrong for what you do write?)

    I know I sound snarky again, and you prob got your heckles raised again, but I don't mean to piss on it. This is one of these pieces that I really, really like. Probably more than like. But in so many ways, that it itches me in a maddening way. I dunno if *I* just don't get it - or maybe look for it in the wrong place - or if you missed it by inches, like Adam in the Sistine Chapel?

    I wish there was some rl lit prof here to puzzle it out. My forhead is green and black and bumpy from me bashing my head against it...

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  4. oh i dunno - six for silver is the most pleasing in my mouth. i don't remember writing this. when i write a journal then it's mostly a relating of my corvid encounters? piss on it all you like, it's shit. i hate writing. it should all just read: crow crow fuck drugs crow ouch vomit fuck crow computer fight fuck cry crow.

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