new old kid on the blog,
with an occasional
old or new poem written off
the old writer's block
A moral vacuousness (of sorts) implied in every type of self-referentiality like "how cute//can you get": how much more unspeakably grotesque when its referents are real people. At least, the answer wasn't too forthcoming.That's why fashionable 70s language philosophy failed--they referred more to their authors than not.And people just got tired of all the boasting.I think your poem's managed to bring that whole self-absorbed edifice crashing to the floor. Only poetry in the skilled hands of Vassilis Zambaras can do it.Ah, I've been reading too much philosophy lately
Agreed, but to speak of the beings that surround us now, in this triumphally mechanical epoch, as "real people", may be to speak too soon.I also read too much philosophy, in the dark, handwritten there, in huge letters, on the sealed-up wall at the end of the tunnel.Hard on the eyes, but then, talking of unresponsiveness, the mind can always opt out, and take the Fifth. Maybe. But what is it they say? Nature abhors a moral vacuousness?Like I said, they're all around us.Who knows what to expect next. I mean, really...a 25-hour Twitter project?
Dear Conrad and Tom,Thanks for the feedback on this; for some reason, I don't read much philosophy and I really don’t know why—probably a defect in my character which prevents me from digging too thoroughly into what makes the world and mankind in general tick. A careful reader of my poetry will often see this tendency manifested in a number of my poems (mainly the “ironic” ones) which appear to address deep existential concerns but which in reality are shallow cop-outs camouflaged under a thin veneer of witty “poetic” polish.