for someone practicing an athenian
(cf. nietzsche's paradox,
that athenian would suggest, intoxication,
and be equivalent to dionysian
tactic)
art-form... practice...
i'm no plumber... i'm not electrician...
there's no "methodology" in what i do,
there's no a priori: the same *******
(problem) is waiting for me... every turn
i take... i just have a blank canvas
i have to work with...
funnily enough... i live out
a simple life... some music... some alcohol...
some cigarettes... the windowsill...
sunglasses, even if it's raining...
oh you can spot a rain cloud no problem,
even if it's not raining... there's that shade
of gloom in the aura...
you can sense it...
much more so, since with rain, you're
anticipating thunder, and lightning...
you get all the dimensions centralised
in your fingers feeling itchy...
because you're expecting the earth to start clapping!
i don't know whether it's a paradox or not...
i.e. coupling all things athenian with
nietzsche's dionysian approach...
but i'm pretty sure that artists are, generally speaking,
hedonists... you need to get drunk to write
something worthwhile... otherwise, sober?
you're a scribbler... sure, you'll write a 600 page
density of a novel... but, so many pointless words
in between attempts at poetry.
you might as well be called a blacksmith with words,
or someone who might plough a field
like a work-horse.
so i do the "feminine work" of writing "poetry",
but i have a σπαρταν (spartan) regime
considering: under what circumstances (the words
were produced).
spartan = apollonian
athenian = dionysian,
meaning? i have a regime that i keep...
first thing: i jump out of bed that acts like
a trampoline when i wake up...
i either try to remember a dream, or the last thing
i did the previous day...
squirrel? yep... in my last dream i was
taking care of a canadian grey squirrel, that was shivering...
then i take a ****... it usually smells like ammonia
since it's ultra-canary, concentrated...
then i drink a litre of water + squash...
i crunch my stomach... and then go and take a ****...
like a german might, i wipe my ***... but then inspect
the ****... is it a floated (i.e. fat wasn't digested) -
or is it a sinker?
if i'm satisfied with how much i ******* out
i return to farting for an hour or two...
to clear the bowels...
and sure, if i find my **** to be of satisfactory volume?
i'm happy for the rest of the day.
then i stick my head under the shower and wet
my hair... too much hair... no point using chemicals to
keep it in shape... and i just wet it...
brush it to the ******-side (right to left)
and go... mm-hmm.
men ought to be discouraged from writing poetry,
i know i am, every time i write one,
and it's anti-orthodox, in a sense that an english teacher
wouldn't call my work poetry...
i'm just not bothered about being conscious of
poetic strategies that might allow identification of a body
as that sort of genre... metaphor, pun, imagery? huh?
maybe, somtime, in the yesteryear.
coming back to the equation though:
spartan = apollonian
athenian = dionysian:
christianity gave the greeks music...
prior to it? comedy, theatre in general...
not a lot of singing... christianity gave the greeks
music; prior to? they talked a lot,
for some reason they seemed to abhor music,
the so-called "barbarians" encountered by the roman empire?
**** me, they hated talking... all they did was sing...
it was a continual **** of song to celebrate life.
like i said, i might be practicing an athenian communicat,
but i hardly live a life to that extreme...
of "freedom", and indulgence...
it's not a life that a freddy mercury could live in, for a year...
it's spartan... or as the modern tongue would stress?
simple... uninhibited... but with some sort of apollonian
sense of constraint... synonymous to: a regime / order.
