it's a little early in the year, right? to be wondering if i'm doing anything of value in this new year?
well, no. i'll be working through this now:
i've been asked to be public with my work at an upcoming event. i want to do this, keeping in mind that while i'm not a stage poet, i'm still someone who writes and preaches that examples should be public and one should not turn down an opportunity. i'm doing it, and that's causing these anxieties.
respect for poetry 2014. photo by maite jacobson
nearly everything i've written from april - december 2014, i find, is bullshit. i'm not moved; i'm annoyed, and not in a productive way. what will i have to read? nothing, because there is nothing there. in my phases of writing, i've successfully moved on from the "i'm displacing my misery onto other people and making it seem like they're the cause of things they don't have anything to do with because i'm not entirely willing to talk about myself yet" and i don't know what there was between april/december, but it was confusing and irrelevant.
