so, i know

that my life is a practice of reactions to non-sequitors. I’ve come to terms. Laurie’s word ring in my ear… the artist… eats the leftover pasta salad in the fridge. The artist approaches the Mercado’s tamale stand. The artist serves the table. The artist listens to the jazz set. The artist does.

The artist writes. I’ve been away again. Living. I suppose. Stunting, some would say. I am trying to write. I am wanting to take my writing to the play form. I’m thinking what I need to do is really bring the play form into the writing I am doing. So I suppose, again, that I’ll need to read. And read I shall. But as intro writing classes have taught me: You just have to start writing.

I’m going to go back to the Classical Literature I’ve read already. Pay more attention to the form, to what is happening there thanjust the basic plot. I don’t know if this is the correct path but this is certainly the only path I know… I don’t have a process yet, so I guess I just figure out how to create one.

I do know that I am thinking more and more that my main problem (self diagnosed) is that I continue to think that there is an urgency to get to the thing right away. You know, cut the shit and get to the point already… that’s what I feel makes poetry so great, it is this amalgamation of these things, points and precipices. I was speaking with playwright Kevin Anthony Kautzman about a week ago and he said something that rang hard in me that, paraphrased, was “There should be more drama in poetry and more of the poetic in the play form,”.

Maybe soon I’ll be able to say with a more full knowing, Truer words were never spoken, my friend.

And how.

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