|Portrait of an Articulated Skeleton on a Bentwood Chair|
Forgetting that what I post on a blog is read by people, today someone (a student, no less) found my blog online and read my first post. It is an obscurely written poem about Prague and Dvořák. I do like the first line of the poem, "Dvořák strums his fingers on the dashboard, a melodic lilt to the tune of lips," but the rest of the poem is arduous.
Arthur Rimbaud and Stuff
When I was in my early twenties I think I tried to imitate Arthur Rimbaud's symbolic poetry which ended up in dozens of cryptic poems I wrote during that time. I must say, I was better at free association than I am now. I used poetry as an early form of therapy. Not a bad idea, but poetry based on the mental states of the poet does not mature with age. Now, I am more tight-lipped with words. HA HA HA. I don't write as much poetry. It's sad, isn't it? I am not sure why I abandoned poetry. I have notes about poems, and I even collected a few of my best poems in a notebook. The student was less interested in the poetry, and more interested in the fact that there is a picture of me talking on a yellow telephone. "Were you really talking on the phone?" he asked, incredulous that anyone in today's cell phone fixated world would actually use a pay phone. I listened to an intense conversation today about cell phones. Wow. I do like and use my cell phone, but apparently, it is a very important life accessory for a lot of people. I overheard a student say to another, "Yeah, I bought an iPhone, but it does not do everything I want." True that.
Back to blogging:
I've been blogging since 2001. It doesn't surprise me that I have maintained a blog for over a decade since I have been continually recording my thoughts in analog form since at least 1992. Don't worry. I won't upload my twelve-year-old self's thoughts to this blog, but it is nice to know I have a record of my thoughts through the decades. My twelve-year-old self enjoyed lists. I made lists for everything. Lists for matchbox cars and MAD magazines. It was rather obsessive of me. Come to think of it I still like lists. Some things do not change. It's a learned behavior I have managed to keep. I have a to-do list, a list of books read, a list of movies watched, and a list of fragments of thoughts. I think it is common for people to keep lists. The selection of websites that make list making a hobby attests to our fascination with making lists cataloging our every whim. Goodreads is good for book lists, IMDB is good for movie lists. I have an app called Delicious Library for making a catalog of all the books I own. It's nifty.
There is even an app to list your random thoughts. Thoughtback is good for making a list of random thoughts that will then successively come back to you as messages on your desktop. The app promises "to program your mind, one thought at a time." It's rather disconcerting. I thought it would re-inspire me to investigate thoughts I have, but I cannot help but be embarrassed when a thought I wrote weeks ago pops up on my desktop. Who cares if I wrote, "Capitalism has no ethical structure," or, "I should write a short story about artificial intelligent zombies."
On a Different Note:
I'm going to New Orleans next week. It has become an annual ritual since I moved to New York. I intend to do everything there that I do not do in New York: eat raw oysters, go to gritty bars, hang out with friends I have not seen for a year, and see the family for Christmas. I have a nephew I have not yet met. My aunt is hosting Christmas dinner and I will get to visit my old hometown of Mandeville (and by extension Madisonville). I have anxiety about going home, but it is mainly because I deal with anxiety all the time anyway.
Speaking of anxiety, tomorrow morning I am serving on a summary jury for the County of Kings, but I am not going to say anything more about that topic. *shutting my playboy mouth*