I wish

I could write with some purpose, or clarity. But even my readings are fragmentary and riddled with allusions. Part of my reason for opening this blog was to challenge myself to write more often. But that was already there in the notebook. So, there's a performative angle to this writing. Which I dread. I would much rather read, but even that is an activity that is always threatened.

Citation is my mode, for now. Because the channels don't change fast enough for me. Because the various forms that Pain takes in my life demand diversion.

I keep thinking about Borges when I think of blogs. His story of meeting his future (past?) self on the banks of the Charles river.

I write because living is inadequate. I write more simply each day. Or, more dully.

The novelty of this medium should be wearing off anytime now. At which point I can hopefully post only when necessary. No more of these self-reflexive comments. A friend recently described what happens on some poetry blogs as "masturbation." And I think he has a point.

I wish I remembered what I meant to say here, before the routine of self-focus overwhelmed me.

I wish the poem were constant.

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