it came to me at 3 AM

if I had a place
that is
if there were a word a nice
simple
everyday
easy to pronounce
word for this points
crotchward
or this points
faceward
or this
arms outstretched as if
to say

if there were then
probably I would be happy to give it
give it up that is
let us all be undefined
uncontained happy
free from tyranny
a frolic around a grave labeled
labels

if there were such

or if she had said something more like yeah I don’t use any particular pronouns either instead of
why does it matter
what you call yourself
what I call you
what you all take on the whole of
common language

if there were such maybe
maybe I’d a
had an answer
prepared ahead of time
instead of this.

Advertisements

introductory preface to a prolog on the combination and recombination of networks of terrestrial systems on Earth for the next few billion

I have this manifesto. Well I do not really have a manifesto. I have been trying to write one or it has been preoccupying me more than usual that having something to say is not the same as having the wherewithal to say it or the energy to take down out of the vast wandering hoardes of sounds and images just the right ones in just the right order to say something like what all of them would say if any of them could say anything.

Wait a little while and you can make art out of it.

Which is true. You can wait. And you can make art out of it or anything else you care to. You can exchange long intimate notes with yourself refining each point down until it vanishes into its own infinite resolution.

 

You can speak plainly.

Except that never works well and I haven’t another whole lifetime to figure out why that is so to be unplain and unclear:

I do not know what to put here.

 

 

 

Thanksgiving as we call the last Thursday in the last full week of November here in the US is mostly to me an insufferable holiday although not as insufferable as the holiday immediately following.

William Burroughs says it well and I am not inclined to stretch the critique out any further this year but only to point out that it is convenient and simple to give his hymn a listen and a nod and then decide that cynicism is unbecoming and go back to doing just as we always have done. It might be more challenging to move from cynicism in some other direction besides attributing Burroughs’ attitude to young disaffected people and something to get over and grow out of and then never give another thought to unless some foundation that we have thoroughly researched as responsible with their funding and not actually any danger to our comfort asks for a little money and then we can open our wallets and do our bit for

 

what was it we were doing our bit for? Well whatever. I am glad that part of my life is over. It does get better you know.

 

I mean unless it doesn’t get better exactly or it just gets different and complicated in ways that somehow are always slightly enough beyond the scope of your current store of understandings that to understand and outline and craft the correct response to each point and then close the account catalog it and file it in the drawer marked domesticated seems at first only not quite possible and a little later on less possible than that.

Was William Burroughs always a disaffected and rebellious young man?

Did William Burroughs have a respectable American adulthood to retire to when he’d had enough of fighting authority?

Did he remain uncomfortable on purpose just to be annoying?

 

 

We can convince ourselves of most anything if it helps to prop up our worldview and our worldview is what gives us comfort and stability.

 

I am an old queer. I remember being a young queer and unearthing stories about and pictures of queers who were old when I was not. It used to be quite difficult even to find out that you could be old and queer at the same time. At first old queers seemed miraculous.

Old queers are miraculous.

By that I do not mean to say I am a miracle although the odds have never appeared to me to be tipped in my favor and yet here I am getting old. I am still young of course but any claim to youthfulness I have now and will have for the rest of my life will be metaphorical. The teeth are already starting to go. As are eyes and skin and joints and hair in one particular spot but hair in general is its own narrative for me but I am not going to write about hair now.

Your Holiday Mom is offering virtual families for queer children again this year. I followed them last year not knowing what the operational definition of children was for we are all somebodies’ children even if we are very old and our parents have been gone a very long time.

I still do not know. My parents are not gone but they are not here either. I have not seen or heard them nor they me for more than seventeen years. We have email contact at the moment. They were young parents and so are not terribly old just yet. I do not know whether I will see them again alive and the question of whether I want to is sort of complicated to answer although it is slowly becoming less so. Less complicated that is.

Last year I left a comment for a couple on Your Holiday Mom. I do not recall precisely what I said. They may have had a decade on me if that but it did not feel quite right to me to address as proximate parents anyone younger than I and I was not even sure I was supposed to be looking for familiar reception there given my age but I figured it was worth a shot.

There was no reply.

I do not know if I will do more than read their stories this year. It is said that many connections were made last year.

 

 

Sometimes it is so easy to write that I can barely type fast enough to take everything down. I thought this was going to be like that but I made the mistake of starting it with the knowledge that I wanted to post it. I tried to pretend that was not the case but it was too late for the elaborate offices of censorship that I myself built out of the need for self-preservation to reverse course or even slow down the procedure for the initial establishment of emergency services because he is about to say something.

Among the many projects that float around in protean form in my head is some sort of online, public but safe-as-internet-space-can-be writing project open to anyone who is unsure of their voice or who has experienced on a regular and or systemic basis their voice being shouted down or hushed or ignored or ridiculed or forbidden. You might guess that this would be one of many attempts to do an end-run around my own internal bureaucracy and you might be right. I am wondering though, if it is easier to do that surrounded by people in similar straits and or people who are willing to be patient with our bureaucracies as we try to spit out whatever we have to say.

I am fairly convinced that what we have to say needs to be heard. Almost convinced enough to burst out here on my own, but that may or may not happen. I have hundreds of thousands of words already arranged in mostly sensical sentences in text files on various digital storage media. I could just post them. If I tell myself this a few more times maybe I could get undiagnosed out a little more quickly than its current faint trickle of a few thousand words every three months.

Or maybe I need some other strategy.

Fits and starts. Throat-clearing. Setting the stage.

Continual reduplicating of effort.

Exhortations to speak.

Exhortations to keep quiet.

 

giving in to convention

So I thought about it for a little while and decided that I could capitalize the sentences on the longer, denser parts of undiagnosed without totally compromising my artistic integrity.

There are so many things wrong with that sentence I am not sure where to begin but I do realize that pretty much every part of undiagnosed is dense and long and I do not hold a great deal of reverence for “artistic integrity” not least because I mostly have no idea what the phrase refers to in its usual contexts and also I have no desire or energy to supply it with a coherent referent in this context here probably because integrity may not be salvageable in the linguistic communities I belong to and I may think good riddance to that so why devote much more effort to it.

But so what I decided then was something like I could capitalize those sentences that appeared to me to be sentences in the last two pieces I put up at undiagnosed and still like how they read. I will admit to a bit of compromise and if I ever were to have the opportunity to print undiagnosed as a book I might uncapitalize the sentences I just capitalized because once it is in print I am a little less concerned as to whether it is readable.

Well actually I am ambivalent about whether or not I want the sentences capitalized and so as long as I am not absolutely sure they must be done one way or the other I figure I might as well make them a bit more readable now since ultimately I do want readers and I do think what I am writing might be worthwhile for someone out there to read or parts of it at least and I do not want to purposely throw up obstacles to reading without a really good reason and I am not sure my reasons are all that good or even all that clear even to me. That is I know why I have not been capitalizing most sentences but I am not myself convinced that it is a necessary method for doing what I am trying to do.

That is there might be other methods that work just as well or it may be that I do not need other methods or the no-capitals method. We will see.

So a bit friendlier, here:
stalking feet
covert citizenship in the land of one thousand dances
I am however fairly certain I do not want to capitalize the titles.

also?

I keep forgetting what I have written here and what I have written someplace else. I have in fact made some mention of where last year went and by last year I mean from about May 2012 until just about right now and possibly some after now because psych med adjustments and withdrawals are unpredictable thus however almost normal relatively speaking that is I may be today I cannot postulate anything about tomorrow other than that if I see the sun come up I will have been able to open my eyes. But for instance I cannot take for granted that if I open my eyes after sunrise I will see anything at all. Not because my vision has been particularly skitterish but because consistency on a large scale has been quite so and for long enough that I have left off counting on anything.

This is not to say I do not rely on anyone or anything. I do. And but as much anguish as it might cause to be deprived of any of the persons or other collections of heterogenous energies that I have come to regard as necessary for my own stability I have very little sense of any force of continuity that might compel any of them to continue to exist or to appear or to congregate as such.

Incredible as this might sound this outlook is much more peaceful and comforting than most any other I have been able to put together on the basis of experience and judgment and reasoning or whatever borked neurological structures may be trying to compose experience or judgment or reasoning for me. It took decades to get this far.

Tautology: it takes decades to grow old.

Anyway what happened was this: stalking feet and I have not posted anything like it over here. That is some of what is posted there explains some of what came to pass between last year at this time and this year at this time. I do not know if it will explain anything or even if there is any need for an account of where I went beyond that account I keep for myself which account is not fully laid out there to begin with but I had thought I already made a note here about what I did for summer fall winter and spring vacation but I see now that this is not the case.

So.

Since posting stalking feet I have also finished and posted covert citizenship in the land of one thousand dances. These two installments are the grand total for 2013 so far.

As already noted, that is all there is to say about what I might write after today.

sort of like you know I’m not sure but definitely I will think about it yes

I found this at How to Make Money Writing Poetry (Part One):

  1. Always use keyword research when you are writing material that you will use to draw traffic or to make money online.
  2. Use Keyword Research to select your blog niche, blog title and blog URL. Preferably you want to select popular AND profitable keyword terms.
  3. Use keyword research to select blog topic posts and write blog posts or poems based on profitable and popular keywords.
  4. If you already have a collection of poems for your blog posts package them such that they fall into a profitable keyword niche.
  5. Make sure you include the main keyword at the beginning of the title of your blog post (so that it will show in the URL of the blog post) e.g. A Sad Love Poem by Your Name: Love Lost. Keep in mind that for branding purposes, keyword research and search engine optimization, the poem niche and your name are more important than the title of the poem.
  6. Make sure that you include your main keyword in the body of your blog post and in the tags. You should also try to include related popular keywords.

Some backstory:

I am doing a research project. It is really the same one it has always been and it is not particularly distinct from any of the other concrete things that I work on but it may have been for instance my primary topic of academic writing if I had kept to a course in which academic writing was the sort of writing I was doing but since I am not so much writing of academic pieces even though everything I do write would have been impossible to write without having for a long time been an academic and without still being more or less in study more or less all of the time this research project is not precisely an academic research project but it is not precisely not one either.

The topic, broadly, could be put this way:

What the fuck.
I mean.
What. The. Fuck.

I could spend some time detailing the many contexts in which I so often say or read or hear about this approximate topic but I do not know that I could do this adequately in fewer than 5000 words and I am not up to 5000 words today and besides it would take at least 10,000 to really explore all the genres of what the fuck. So this is but a bare outline of where my own overburdened incredulity has led me up to this point:

I am looking at the colonization of Europe by specific human species and groups starting around 45,000 years or so ago through the fall of the Roman Empire and the Christian conquest of what is often called paganism. I am looking at the development of the idea of individuality in Europe and the Americas. I am looking at the geneaology of dualistic structures in mainly European and USian traditions of thought and inquiry. I am looking at USian psychiatry’s approach to diagnosis and treatment of “mental disorders” and I am looking at whatever relationships might suggest themselves between cultural trauma and abusive child-rearing philosophies.

I am also trying to track my own family’s history in the US and in Europe at so many times and places I have no hope of putting anything in narrative order. I am looking at USian imagery and discourse on disability, responsibility, and productivity. I am looking at the broad spectrum of outcomes of treating the designated symptoms of PTSD with neuroleptics, mood stabilizers, SSRIs, SNRIs, novel antidepressants, anticonvulsants, stimulants, and whatever else might be deemed possibly beneficial.

I am also looking at what I think I see as a tendency in disciplines practicing the scientific method toward reductive haste and over-confident explanation and investigating ensuing patterns of having repeatedly to recognize greater complexity in observing and theorizing empirical reality.

So. You know.

Over the weekend I decided to try to read one of the many texts I have been accumulating on these and related subjects only to find that once again I had to stop after less than ten pages and go write.

I say once again because this has been happening with greater and greater frequency over I would reckon the last two or three years. Maybe longer but I think in 2010 I could still finish a book-length academic text and in fact did so although I am not sure which one because I have completely lost track of what I have started to read and what I have read all the way through and what I am in the middle of and what I have put down because I was sleepy or exasperated or disgusted or curious about cited sources or excited about curious sources or so energized that I had to go take a five-mile walk.

And so I went to write. And I can even say that I was successful at least to the degree that I did indeed write even to the point of finishing a section of unDiaGnosed or that is writing enough on it that I was reasonably willing to post it for public consumption and so did just that.

I do not know what I am going to try to do next but it will probably be a response to this growing hunch that it is time to write and that if I try to do other than write I am probably going to be frustrated and depressed and cranky and unbearable even and especially to myself.

And although I do write because I cannot not write or that is when I write it often is the case that not writing was not so much an option I also do write in hopes that someone will read what has been written and find it appealing or useful or amusing or not a complete waste of time and because this has happened before I do actively search for readers although “actively” is sometimes of necessity not particularly active-looking to anyone not familiar with the way I am put together and sometimes that anyone includes myself.

But so the SEO Poetry tips were the result of a Google search looking for suggestions on how to broaden one’s online audience and of nearly everything they say one should do there is almost no chance that I will do any of it except maybe ponder some basic web user interface problems which I have historically tossed to the winds because I was not really trying to make things easy to find and certainly not trying to create descriptive links and in fact usually wanted you to have no idea what a given link would produce when clicked. I think though that I might have to make a concession or two at least for the purposes of providing clear paths to anyone who might actually be trying to find a thing because they want to read it. On the other other hand this thing that I write that might be a blog but is sporadic and without direction although I am not all that interested in furnishing it with any particular sense of direction I would like it to be somewhat less sporadic in some way that might actually render me able to pull off something like a change in direction for the collection of writing sites that are nominally mine and that I consider active even if I have not posted in two years on at least one of them.

Something might happen here is what I almost mean to say. I do not know what. I do not know if anything at all will happen but if say I were to find energy enough and to enjoy any period of what they call productivity at all I would like to try a couple of things. None of them are SEO poetry.

Unless they are. Because I did stop in my rush to make fun of the How to Make Money Writing Poetry (Part One) tips and wondered what it might be like actually to follow these tips without following them. Or to take them as occasions for making something they probably were not trying to help me put together. Because when it comes to cultural subversion I am pretty much about straight-on perversity or certainly what usually results is abruptly orthogonal even to what I think I am trying to do.

What I mean is that I do not think I will be writing ironic SEO poetry not just because irony has been chewing on its own tail for so long now that it has practically devoured the distance from itself that it requires of itself but more because I still do best at associational perversity. I may forget about SEO poetry altogether and make no response at all but I am still going to think about it. Or something else.