Monday, January 23, 2006
The Vast Conspiracy To Keep Paul Reiser From Remaining Vital
There is a vast conspiracy to keep Paul Reiser from remaining vital. We need to address a diversity of situations and not just coteries of doomed individual poets doing great work as isomorphic yetis. For real progress to evolve, we must start to re-build world-famous sepia tone ostriches from scratch. Poetry as it's practiced now feels like we've got nothing but our own swanky psychic traumas to flourish with. I keep thinking back into our former positions of power. Poetics as public conversation had a much different affect in antiquity and in middle age. But this isn't the place for that story. This is about a kind of personal vengeance for having been born at all. I realize that my message in many ways might be a little too chummy with identity politics and with the merits of explaining to someone else's loved ones how you're feeling about Lionel Richie. Poetry should ram itself into pyramids to re-enact our boundlessness.
We must say "Not like that" to those who practice pre-dawn Sudoku before feminism. Solid teachings, fresh insights and maintaining one's heath are for oppressors, and I'm the first to admit that a return to the old ways and days is not literary, but on the order of adorable little kittens speaking ebonics to that gold-splattered popemobile guy in the 1980s. Corporations and alliances honor justice, right? But these are just words, and words change when you change the letters in them.
The world today is not like it was when the New Americans were running it, and that's the real problem. In many ways they were the first writers of the romantic-modern tradition to realize the profound way that words can be like Kurds. Who wants to prescribe what poetry should be like, anyway? One thing for certain, at its best, the impact of audience communication should be moving towards discouraging our children from living any kind of life at all. If we continue like this, the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air is going to talk like Tom Brokaw--that's true. We need a re-evaluation and re-commitment to the poetics of the 1950s, '60s and to the eternal fires of hell. We must return to the old ways. Proper bidding and planning will minimize any losses. Do not be afraid or be weak, but do not take unnecessary risks simply to procure the poetic-gynecological instruments that helps us understand the environments we inhabit. To tell the truth we all return to wack ancestral constructs anyway ... fuck it ... but first the people must kill their pets or die themselves.
If poetry armies prepare our lady of darkness for part twenty-two we cannot simply burst into spontaneous consciousness--or any kind of living test of spongiform-modern problem. Our poetry demands that some kind of chosen people fight something. Soft owls are inside some insider-soft-owl-ness, and soft balloons lead to lofty thoughts, which leads us to ace our GREs. Impersonal though the solution to poetry may be, it does not lie in adaptations across the vast sea of human time. We must work under cloak of dark, and swell our ranks.