The Slilence Journal: pt. 1
I feel that I need to take the time to transcribe this journal entry regarding the slilence, the concept that will revolutionize poetry and make me my millions. It is largely unedited (certain events and concepts have been clarified for those who are not me). It was written very late at night a month or two ago. It begins now.
What is the slilence? It is the most pretentious concept I have ever envisioned. It is absurd and stupid. It makes other stupid ideas seem that much smarter. It is like taking salted peanuts into the desert and forgetting the water, only stupider and more absurd. It is an exaggeration held together by the elastic of the universe. Did I mention it's pretentious? It is.
The slilence is, as I am envisioning it, the sound that the absence of sound makes as it moves away from you at speeds greater than the speed of sound. Sort of a Doppler shift of silence. The silence moves beyond the speed of sound, thus creating the slilence.
Here's how it all started, the whole worthless mess. It started at Rubber Gloves in Denton before a concert. I was being stupid and felt left out of whatever conversation that was going on, so I said the first thing that came to mind. Here's a very brief summary of the genesis of the slilence:
A twenty poem cycle written in a single night about the sound of silence going down a huge cosmic slide. Hence the name, slilence. I was only joking, but then the thought of something so enormous and terrrifying as a silence greater than silence started to really fuck with me. Thank the Jesi I don't do drugs. My whole fucking Amtrack would've been derailed. So I decided to go ahead with the concept, but got rid of the deadline.
My Art will not be constrained by mere time.
The twenty poem cycle will deal with--and attempt to put into words--the ways in which the slilence is felt in everyday life, either audibly or metaphorically, sometimes theoretically and fictitiously. The last page will be black with two small circles at the top right and bottom left corners with thin black lines connecting them. It will be a visual poem. It will also be mostly incomprehensible. The cover will probably involve black hole clip art and a tasteful sans serif font.
THE END of the journal.
This post is so pointless. Why publish the explination of a poetry cycle that doesn't yet exist, especially a poetry cycle that will receive next to zero exposure? Why should an artist validate his methods? Why do I seek to constrain instead of create? The final visual poem strikes me as incredibly ineffective. If the distance between sounds is expanding as fast as I believe it is, why should this be represented on the finite blackness of a page? Shortly after its conception, the metaphor would no longer apply, since the sound circles will have moved even farther apart--off the page. This requires more thought. Can such a concept exist as a snapshot or is the ever growing vastness between sounds impossible to capture?
What is the slilence? It is the most pretentious concept I have ever envisioned. It is absurd and stupid. It makes other stupid ideas seem that much smarter. It is like taking salted peanuts into the desert and forgetting the water, only stupider and more absurd. It is an exaggeration held together by the elastic of the universe. Did I mention it's pretentious? It is.
The slilence is, as I am envisioning it, the sound that the absence of sound makes as it moves away from you at speeds greater than the speed of sound. Sort of a Doppler shift of silence. The silence moves beyond the speed of sound, thus creating the slilence.
Here's how it all started, the whole worthless mess. It started at Rubber Gloves in Denton before a concert. I was being stupid and felt left out of whatever conversation that was going on, so I said the first thing that came to mind. Here's a very brief summary of the genesis of the slilence:
A twenty poem cycle written in a single night about the sound of silence going down a huge cosmic slide. Hence the name, slilence. I was only joking, but then the thought of something so enormous and terrrifying as a silence greater than silence started to really fuck with me. Thank the Jesi I don't do drugs. My whole fucking Amtrack would've been derailed. So I decided to go ahead with the concept, but got rid of the deadline.
My Art will not be constrained by mere time.
The twenty poem cycle will deal with--and attempt to put into words--the ways in which the slilence is felt in everyday life, either audibly or metaphorically, sometimes theoretically and fictitiously. The last page will be black with two small circles at the top right and bottom left corners with thin black lines connecting them. It will be a visual poem. It will also be mostly incomprehensible. The cover will probably involve black hole clip art and a tasteful sans serif font.
THE END of the journal.
This post is so pointless. Why publish the explination of a poetry cycle that doesn't yet exist, especially a poetry cycle that will receive next to zero exposure? Why should an artist validate his methods? Why do I seek to constrain instead of create? The final visual poem strikes me as incredibly ineffective. If the distance between sounds is expanding as fast as I believe it is, why should this be represented on the finite blackness of a page? Shortly after its conception, the metaphor would no longer apply, since the sound circles will have moved even farther apart--off the page. This requires more thought. Can such a concept exist as a snapshot or is the ever growing vastness between sounds impossible to capture?
posted by Poetry Revolutionist at 10:54 PM
4 Comments:
I think you should be a philosopher/theorist.
Perhaps you could be the next Derrida or Lacan, and other bored graduate students in the future will make up a comic strip regarding the dense greatness of your work, and Hrothgar's of course.
That's probably the best career suggestion I've ever heard. Being a theorist makes total sense because I love to generate semi-coherent nonsense.
Perhaps you have found your niche as a critic of unpublished works. That would definitely make you the expert.
The slilence screamed at me today, and, like Jesus, I too wept.
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