Toiling on in seemingly endless vain to comprehend the relevance of my own vision has lead me to contemplate language. It is sure that language is the most effective tool of oppression, but conversely and inherently, if we can accrpt that fact as truth, it is also the best bet for our liberation. Ah, that ever present duality, and the challange we face to accept real unity without judgment in our lives and art. I am listening to Antonio Carlos on this chilly MLK day and it has enrobed me in a warmth of spirit. I am encouraged by this and the intellectual postmodern poetic construct, but in no way do I feel obligated to employ it, though employ it I feel I will. The neo formalists to the left of me have me convinced that there is a need for metrical form as a way to define poetry, and this concept sings to me. Simultaneously in my right ear the language and pomo aesthetic to rage free and unfettered into the outskirts and margins on paths cut with my own greased up blade holds its own appeal. Funny, in that context the pomo almost seems more imperialist in nature than the seemingly constrained poetic traditionalists. Of course, that is only a matter of context. Well there is a lot to think about and tons more to do. I want to leave you with a quote, so here you go.
"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow mindedness."
Mark Twain.
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