- Am writing a lyric sequence. Hmm, really like how that sounds. Also, like the requirement itself, surprised as we all were that will be workshopping a series of poems, and not disparate ones. To prepare for it, took up sequences by Shakespeare, Donne, Rilke, Hughes, Sexton, Olds, and Gluck. Lots of Gluck. Requirement is 20 poems with thematic center and movement and shit. Myth with confession. Calendrical, chronological, or narratological. Plot or depth.
- Prof warned that will be an obsessive project. Something that requires prolonged dwelling. Was told to stay out of topics that can push selves toward brink of insanity, e.g., one's distant father, one who got away, etc. So decided to do Bakla in the City sequence. Hope not as frivolous as it sounds, though. "City" is ongoing preoccupation, while bakla will, oversimplification aside, be about being tiny fish in ocean of gayness, i.e., search for love, sex, happiness, etc. Afraid it won't be as personal as necessary, but that is the point.
- Have to come up with 3 poems by Wednesday. Oh dear. Maybe will recycle poems? Is it not self-plagiarism?
- To prepare for grueling process, have been reading poem sequences and listening to Adele's 21 album. Starting to contemplate on - brr - past attempts at love, and happiness and, today, being alone in no uncertain terms. O lord. Finally see what prof means. But maybe will end sequence on positive note: like how 21 ends with I Found a Boy. See? Positive.
- Meanwhile, deadlines for fiction and nonfiction workshops also this week. Fiction (non-realist) is lame attempt at speculative, alternate reality about reversed political pecking order. Non-fic is about Cubao, and the city's violence rendered unseen by its ubiquity. Prepared to get criticism that non-fic doesn't have enough I, and prepared to yell to rest of class, That is the bloody point.
- Planned, in this barrage of requirements, to banish self from online stuff, although option rendered impossible as works are submitted and even critiqued online. Grr.
At a time when revolutions are born in cyberspace and global thought is summarized in hashtags, the artist is in limbo: empowered by a supposed…
I miss you, LJ. :) I think I will go back to you soon, prodigal son-, player who eventually settled-style.