I know that I know nothing

I suppose that sums up what this silly little rambling is to be about. That I am aware I know nothing really (truly). I have been pondering today. Considered carefully about my writing practice and what I think the “dos” and “donts” might be. That is, in my very little, very limited experience with the Art form. I have thought about all I want to achieve in my practice, what my practice even is. I do not think I have uncovered many answers, though certainly more questions. Figures.

THE TRAIN TRACKS: perhaps in some misguided Romantic humanness, I wish for my writing to be connected as all Things seem to be connected. I have not really considered, at least plainly, and stated boldly, that the trains will barrel toward each other inevitably. I think it wise to assume I must keep laying down the tracks until the collision hits, and who knows how long that will take? Why must there even be tracks? Are we always on a path when we do not even seek one? If we walk a path that was not a path before, can we assume that we always leaves paths no matter what? So can there truly ever be a path? Perhaps there are only ever paths. I am sure there is something to be said about the psychology in this. About why-we-are-the-way-that-we-are and our childhoods and adulthoods and maybe we should just shrug off the “hood” part and leave it a jumper. Less strangling, I’d assume? At least when sleeping, that is. I’m sure there’s some psychology in that, too. And we are not even considering the whole path dilemma, either. And who said you cannot start a sentence with And? I’d like to hit them. Anyway, the train tracks. Transformation. Moving. Endless &– [insert whatever you think fits best here].

UNBINDING THE BINDS: as I said earlier, I would like my writing to be connected. Imagine writing a poem *now* that actually connects to a work of fiction in ten years time! Or perhaps the writing connects with some detail from the real world/life (honestly don’t get me started on Reality right now, thank you Ray & Sam). I have been thinking of these things, from an authorial perspective– in the sense that I must construct this huge big-umbrella-mutant-thing and work backwards. That I must know how everything connects before I write about it connecting. I have never thought like this and I don’t know why I am bothering with this process now. In my reality, the best things arrive organically. And (often), they tend to slap me in the face because I was too hesitant to trust the signs earlier. To taste the divinity.

HOW TO STRADDLE THE REALM B/W “NOT ENOUGH” & “TOO MUCH”: That is not to say I wish to be sloppy, or disgrace contemporary poetry with little care to my practice in the good name of “raw” and “organic.” Unfortunately, there must be some kind of call to balance. I have been practising balancing with my eyes closed nearly every morning and every night. I am yet to clock 30 seconds. I am also yet to learn when I am doing too much, or too little. No, it is too structured. It is too raw and sloppy. It is too– I am yet to take a leap of Faith. To rid of fear. But again the paradox of too snaps its ugly head around to face me. Too much fear is paralysing. Too little fear, does not truly push you… but how am I to measure a “healthy” dose of fear? What a scam, sham, slam. I am done with these insipid rules. “Rules were made to be broken” but rules create a standard and if there is no standard or at least, some kind of consideration of the existence of a standard, then why does any of it matter? How am I to write contemporary poetry without consideration of the classic stanza, haiku & sonnet? How could I possibly break the conventions with any degree of substance if I do not know what it is I am even breaking? Perhaps that is what has gone “wrong” with Art.

A Question for the Artist more experienced than Me who also knows they know Nothing: Can Art ever truly be wrong?

Yes, yes, I know. What a truly cruel and unfair question. Well, boohoo. I’m signing off x