William S. Burroughs used to say (via Brion Gysin) that writing was fifty years behind painting.
I’ve been testing that.
A half century ago, Pop Art framed the visual media environment.
Andy Warhol’s “Campbell’s Soup I” portfolio of silkscreens was printed in 1968.
Fifty years later, editor John Trefry selects an abridged version of my “Campbell’s Soup I” for Burning House Press.
Suicide is tricky. For the individual, it promises an absolute end to a certain kind of temporal pain, sure — but then, just as quickly, it transfers that pain onto others. And according to its algebra, the multipliers can be huge.
In the absence of Mr. Cobain there’s a little game I’ve played, The Kurt Cobain Game. I wrote about it for Hobart today: “Kurt Cobain Doesn’t Know Much Of Anything.”
This is, more correctly, a very old poem — written a decade ago, submitted nine years ago, moments before H&W went on long-term hiatus.
The hiatus is over. And so is my old approach to poetry. Free verse is tolerable, and can even be occasionally good, if you look at it as not poetry but prose — lazy prose.
It’s the solstice, and I know that genres are shifting their bearing.
Obsessed about a new kind of writing, something more interesting, and immediate, than what’s happening in social media or anywhere else, certainly books—and it was seen in the thrim and shimmer of the lightrays and lush at a disco loft party last night. There for a second, a mirrored moment alone, when my ancient idea of “instant writing” was haunting me hard, some of it came out quickly in great natural clarity—it was strong, vernal, and maybe the only way out that was reasonably possible.
Because look: I’ve created a mountain range of backed-up work in journals and files and piles of pocket notebooks all to transcribe, and there’s simply no way to gather it en masse together and organize it without stopping, and time, and meanwhile more—the ideas keep gushing forth in their fast-flowing froth and I know that the most likely way of finishing these big legends and books is maybe to write them all out in realtime just as they happen, and instantly with fast strokes & brushthought life is transmuted to word.