lit shiz...

I've finished the ms. Good Morning, George Orwell. it's 36 brand new poems, a poetic 'concept album' where metaphors are layered throughout the text and the poems work in a linear narrative that describes a day in the life of an unnamed man working for "them" in 21st century police state america as we march into an uncertain future. I sketched out fragments of the story, then improvised the poems based on a very loose "sketch/idea" of what each poem would be, where each would go, in a deliberate amalgamation of craft/preparation and improvisation. it's a work with many levels and is an effort to go beyond what I've writ before; I attempted a narrative philisophical exploration rendered in poetry, with lots of air between the notes for the imaginative and curious mind to dissect, to unfold, to unpack.

I think it's important that an artist presses on into the unknown with his art; it's easy to rest on comfort and ease, on what's been done successfully already, but it's so much more fun to stretch out and see what lies in that great churning space deep within, that yawning void of strange energy from which creation flows, to try something new and maybe fail, but to never be satisfied, never be comfortable. it's that moment where the earth trembles and the mind reels, where the machine hovers a few inches above the table top and the paper glows and the ink shines, it's what we seek as artists and can't get without forging further and further ahead, turning over rocks and digging in the crawling mud beneath. it's something like magic, but more real. plus it's way more rewarding in the end to have challenged myself to 'play above what I know,' as Miles said...

anyway, it resides with a damn fine editor and we'll see if it goes, as I get to work on some "sound library poems" for Kendra Steiner Editions based on Ennio Morricone's freaky crime movie scores from the mid sixties and revolving around a very familiar place for me: the poker table.