Friday, August 01, 2008


Sometimes I forget

...why I feel like giving up on talking to anyone, and especially on talking to anyone over the internet. And then, an article like this comes along and reminds me:

Does free speech tend to move toward the truth or away from it? When does it evolve into a better collective understanding? When does it collapse into the Babel of trolling, the pointless and eristic game of talking the other guy into crying “uncle”? Is the effort to control what’s said always a form of censorship, or might certain rules be compatible with our notions of free speech?

There are whole months when I can't see past the sense of impending doom. We are screwed. We are sick. Our brains have taken us to a place we may actually not have the capacity to understand. And there is nothing--nothing--a feeble art like poetry can do about it.

Believe it or not, the writing's been jogging loose in the past couple of months. a spiral notebook.

yup. pretty screwed:

but that's what keeps us moving, and you writing. is it not?
Poetry may often be a feeble art but like all arts it carries the potential to icepick your brain into another dimension.

So keep your notebook clean and loaded. Somebodies reality shift will thank you for it.
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