Diary Entry # I don’t know (10,000-something?)
I can’t write about this. Because*. When is the
last time this happened? Perhaps when I took a
Xanax and went dancing with a massive box of
overcrowded straight people (that’s my judgment,
as well-educated as it is or isn’t; an indication for
you to judge me, okay?). I’m rereading Pet Sounds.
This is relevant only because it’s what’s happening.
I want to accrue diaries again; write them; read
them. I wrote a piece a few days ago to put in
mine, which for years has been electronic, an “app”
that I never add to, but one that automatically,
inserts all of my so-called social media posts into
it. That’d be Twitter, Instagram and this Anachron
I can’t write about this. Because*. When is the
last time this happened? Perhaps when I took a
Xanax and went dancing with a massive box of
overcrowded straight people (that’s my judgment,
as well-educated as it is or isn’t; an indication for
you to judge me, okay?). I’m rereading Pet Sounds.
This is relevant only because it’s what’s happening.
I want to accrue diaries again; write them; read
them. I wrote a piece a few days ago to put in
mine, which for years has been electronic, an “app”
that I never add to, but one that automatically,
inserts all of my so-called social media posts into
it. That’d be Twitter, Instagram and this Anachron
izms blog. As I post them (boom!). I only ever
tweet to tout. What did that guy on Facebook call it
yesterday, to self-promote? “I haven’t self-promoted
in a few weeks,” he noted, “so[and here he inserted a
self-promotion].” To which my initial reaction was retch.
But why? Isn’t that just utterly ridiculous? All I do on
Twitter, as I just said, is self-promotion. It’s true. And
if you ask me if I market my work, if I “self-promote,”
I’m more than pleased to proclaim that I do. And what
of pride, and the joy of running a little magazine (in case
you’re not aware, it’s called SHAMPOO – and you can find it
at shampoo-poetry.com, which is not the original URL -
[muffled curses]). Back to Pet Sounds. I’m doing the
typing here? Sure, but look at me now typing “subversive
marketing.” What’s that—anyone? It’s a loaded, hypocritical
question, with apologies. But feel free to send me your
answer. It’s easy to get in touch. Oh, I don’t really need
to know. Would your answer change my mind? It’d
certainly cheer me up. Jeez, I do persist in limiting
an audience. But, yes, I like my marketing subversive,
to a degree. And I’m fidgety, so it keeps me doing some
thing. For example, I do this (that) (which is take out my
trash). Then I do something else (this) (I sit a while and
write a few more lines; bloated). One of the joys and
sadnesses of any Oulipian limitation is that I cannot
write every single thing all at once. Quick, what are you
thinking?. I’m not asking you to exert yourself much. I’m
only wondering who you are. And where you are in time
and space? It does bring me joy to wonder. Even though
it’s legitimately impossible to disccern. So then what I get
instead of joy is consternation; there’s a negative side to
everything right? Or maybe not. Everything’s relative?
Ugh, family! No matter what a dictionary suggests, or a
know-it-all demands, we move forward, so where was I?
Do I, like these words, need your existence in order to exist?
I believe in you. You can do it. Exist! There. I’ve had my fit.
I’m starting to reread a lovely book by a person I know dearly.
