“What is it?”
There isn’t much to say, really, after this.
My caffeine-addled mind drifts swiftly from nausea to pause to exhilaration.
There is not much to say.
My stomach lurches and my collar itches into my neck, rubbing hairs into irritation and ingrown-ness. Sounds like Inverness. Sweat forms on my forehead, and A/C stands for Apathetic Cooling, Absolutely Crappy, Anemic Circulation.
And then, a phone call and a swoop and a few brief, efficient words and I’m done with another assignment and riding an Adventurous crest, pre-break, pre-fall.
But there is not anything to say.
So I say—
“Nothing.”
You and your precious collegiate poetry– I call bullshit. Every stanza you write sounds like every other self-important stanza written by every other self-important college student of the Eggers generation. You aim for the drama of “Howl” and succeed only in celebrating your own belly-button lint.
Congratulations on your attempt at postmodernism. Maybe next time you should pay less attention to your neck hair and more to real issues.
June 29th, 2005 | #
Well, Flotty -
I’ve just realized that a line of Lenny Bruce’s that I quoted earlier here can be interpreted in two ways: “There is no anonymous giver, except perhaps the guy who knocks up your daughter.”
So I’m sure you posted in reponse to my call to pens a few days ago, and I’m dead grateful for your contribution - and also pretty taken aback that the first real crit posted to this site was really negative.
I have to say, however, I would have actually agreed with anonymous at first glance, Flot. But that is just because I felt like I could (should) have written it. And anonymous is probably right to some extent - see, that’s just my postmodern idolatry talking.
But on second glance, I think anon is wrong. I have a little non-digital (analog?) insight into your life, Flot, and I think that really helps me to appreciate your process and mindset, not to mention your location and season while writing this… and I think your freeform, searching and exhausted, style is perfect - precisely because here the medium is the message. I dunno who anonymous is, but I’m guessing that he or she (phe?) found your piece while sifting through the internet in one way or another. That’s because this is a “blog.” And your post is very bloggish, Flotbro (like this one). Which is to say that it is spur of the moment, stream-of-consciousness, caffeine-addled, and actually, a little emotional when you piece the three acts together. I think not taking a step back from this work and not appreciating it on both a guttoral and reflective level really misses the point/non-point/point. So thanks for posting it, man. Please post more when you get the chance when there is not much to say. Because not saying what you’re saying makes other people say what they’re not saying. I say!
And by the way, you’re all invited to my belly-button lint party. As long as you have an identity.
P.S. Anonymous -
An attempt at postmodernism is postmodernism.
P.S. Flotsam -
Don’t look an A/C gifthorse in the mouth.
June 29th, 2005 | #
One more thing -
there will not be any censorship on this site, although it is within my vast realm of hot blooded blogging power.
So not to play 1st grade teacher at recess, but I would like readers/writers to try and keep it constructive. At least overall. That is all. Thank you.
June 29th, 2005 | #