Man makes about man more than not, it looks to me.\u00a0 over and over again we look at ourselves, I look at another looking at a museum exhibition of the Lascaux caves, paintings by man for man \u2013 draw what the world is, write it, what other creature does this?\u00a0 Writing is our habit, like silk from spiders, and reef from coral, we write, in and to the world.\u00a0 Writing on top of writing, so much more real than the living \u201cI,\u201d we require certain writing about ourselves to dictate our interpersonal experience.\u00a0 License, please? Name?\u00a0 What is identity without writing?<\/p>\n
My eyes go wide, the pupils shrink to pinholes, as I place my hands on the shoulders of my journal and say, \u2018it\u2019s all the writing.\u2019 I brace for the Universal No Duh reverb. \u00a0But instead it just trots away from me, without looking back.<\/p>\n
I keep it quiet in here, after Kubla Khan, and during, again, .\u00a0 Even with Samuel Coleridge Taylor do I see a poem more about a writer, nay, more about a primary perspective, than about a location.\u00a0 Must I run as fast as I can through Poetry dot canon to the Rime of the Ancient Mariner<\/a>?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Man makes about man more than not, it looks to me.\u00a0 over and over again we look at ourselves, I look at another looking at a museum exhibition of the Lascaux caves, paintings by man for man \u2013 draw what the world is, write it, what other creature does this?\u00a0 Writing is our habit, like … Continue reading Oct 24 13 The Mariner hath his will<\/span>