10-06-2012, 02:23 PM
I think modernism is like recycling. I once very much disliked T.S. Eliot, and loved Byron and Keats and Yeats. But I've since felt broken up as a person, and started to experience things as if on the same dimension as the Wasteland. I've been able to assimilate such experiences into a personal narrative, that's actually a life. And I don't know if postmodernism can be said to 'exist', but I've tried to do the same with ideas of those such as Deleuze. I've tried to collect that cold and tedious trash, and add some warmth. But the dry wasteland has its way of dragging me back down into it, like the sarlacc in "Return of the Jedi", and I'm left with only that pathetic "infested skank of moisture." I like things to be warmblooded and exciting too. I'm heavily involved in prose works that are making more progress. I'm finding a way to a poetry for that. But I'm trying to burn all the trash first, and see what survives.
You've handled contemporary themes very nicely in some traditional forms, Leanne. And your homages to 19th century figures work splendidly. All the moderns had to reach back to older times to find some semblance of purpose and identity, so they could say something that actually appeared to make sense. Sometimes moments just stretch out until they break off into another and then another, and that literally hurts me. My sense of time and abstract notions physically and emotionally twist me apart. I'm a very silly person.
You've handled contemporary themes very nicely in some traditional forms, Leanne. And your homages to 19th century figures work splendidly. All the moderns had to reach back to older times to find some semblance of purpose and identity, so they could say something that actually appeared to make sense. Sometimes moments just stretch out until they break off into another and then another, and that literally hurts me. My sense of time and abstract notions physically and emotionally twist me apart. I'm a very silly person.