well, duh, or as we used to say in elementary school, no doy! every writer is probably addicted to revision. it is at the heart of the endeavor. what i'm trying to do with my eddie wood sonnets, and my writing overall, is break myself from my normative habits and simply write without any restrictions. one thing i've learned from the great jimmy schuyler is that it is not the content of the poem that matters overmuch, but the techniques of the writer. in other words, how the poet approaches the subject, his/her angle of visions, how syntax and grammar are employed are primary to the texts.

i think that is what attracts me to the italian exploitation filmmaker lucio fulci. linear narrative was broken to a series of startling set-pieces that are brutal and beautiful. fulci's films are surreal in a nickel-and-dime fashion, but they are haunting and stay on in the mind's eye as afterimages. you cannot forget what you've just seen. fulci calls to my mind joseph cornell's boxes, so much pop junk, and yet constructed in such a memorable way that they transcend their subjects.

often i feel guilty for not writing more, or get anxious when circumstances prevent me from reading/writing. so it goes i think for all writers. sometimes i get lucky and think that i've just put in a good night's work. then more often than not i go back to what i've written and think, shit, it sucks. then there are those few moments when i think that the work can stand on its own. that feels lucky.

and yet, i read all the time. i never feel anxiety over reading, always reading is one of life's greatest pleasures. books and web. and books downloaded from the web. and blogs, lots of blogs. more than i've linked to here. soon i think to write about a few of my favorites that i regularly read that i've not linked to. also i think to write a list of poet blogs i'd like to read from poets who currently don't have blogs. are there too many poet-bloggers? that is a dumb-ass question. even if every human on earth wrote poetry, there is still room for more. i mean that. the world needs poetry, and poets. at least language does, and since i'm a creature of language, i need poetry and poets.

i'll end this ramble by mentioning a recent favorite poet-blogger jennifer bartlett who i found via gina myer's blog. when i saw her name i thought that she might be the painter jennifer bartlett, but no. bartlett has a tremendous gusto for life, a unique perspective in life and writing and parenting. reading her is another pure pleasure. i think she has a book due out soon. me, i can't wait to read it.

and for poets who don't have blogs. fucking get one!

peace out