erasure

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I’m not gone, just embodying the silent blinking cursor awhile. 

Removing most of my last vestiges of social media. Concentrating on a novel. It’s either the cave w/ some parchment or relegating myself to a monastery for a decade. A Gibson-esque jack move, but as quiet a one as possible. 

I do think I’m forever done with reviews. I never felt comfortable with them, never knew what they were supposed to really be or do. I don’t think I ‘believe in them’, the same way I don’t think I believe in workshops anymore, or what most creative writing grad programs stand for. As impossible as it is to be true, I don’t think this way as any kind of soapbox or anything that has been really labored over. There’s just a certain DNA to these things that doesn’t hold any weight for me. We are at so many mediated removes from everything anymore and reviews are just another big one. You’re giving so much power to Gatekeepers / taste protectors / blah blah. Just go read the book / watch the movie. So what if you hate it, hate it beautifully. It takes the expense of even a little creative energy that I’d rather just use elsewhere. It was basically just another way to distract myself from doing any real work, another way to keep stretches of time filled away from the unsettling, quiet, self-to-self territories where all the really good stuff sits.

I’ll still gladly post here and there when I’ve come across something awesome, but I’m done trying to force it into something more ‘official’ or worrying over making something I necessarily care if other people are reading.

So, what’s been awesome? The Goldfinch was so amazingly fucking good that its pick for the Pulitzer was such an obviously easy one. What a true capital-M Master of the novel can do with a decade. The new Fargo series the Coen bros. are doing has been absolutely perfect so far. The accent really is basically its own character, just like it was back in 1996. Finally got my hands on a monster collected volume of Lorca…may at some point return to the ‘translation’ and/or an erasure project of his work, if the wind is seeming to blow right for it (if the duende / imp song is loud enough…)

But for now, this strange little novel is showing up. Something like Tao Lin crossed with Murakami crossed with DeLillo’s ‘Body Artist’, I don’t know. 

Speaking of Murakami, August can’t come fast enough…I’ve managed to get a signed copy sent my way…

Back to your regularly scheduled programming. 

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