I'm giddy with calm, reasonable delight. By unchaining myself from the tired old "being" I am free to explore the flipped-ninety-degree world of now; it's a "poetry" I literally couldn't see with my old false confidences. "The gargantuan scale of textuality" really is a thing to behold; an organism of weird awesome love! The emotion of the insufferable "poet" is coercive. This other thing that I've been longing and coincidenting toward for years while I've been slowly waking up to the next dream, this thing is about discovery. It's emotional and scientific; absurd and highly structured; struggling and astonishing. It's so easy it seems hard. I never had much luck with authorial intention anyway; embracing the organic space machine is truly liberating. So much of "writing," from the genre to the blog to the tireless self promotion of the witless salon that is corporate "social," is just different shades of self promotion. I don't have much use for that, because I am a plain, tan pebble. But I am a pebble that is quietly on fire with the joy of being alive, so I am extremely grateful that text—beautiful, dangerous, inscrutable, disappearing, entangled, time-raveling text—seems to continue to exist. Affordances. Each new weird, flawed, incompletely-understood device, each new wave of bizarre mechanical digital social information-bending hyperbolic psyche-immolation that obscenely sublimely disrupts, just opens up tank after tank of new wild ways to make fascinating mistakes. The trivial is the universal. I need to calm down and read now for a minute. In gassing on about the release of balloon guy, you kinda find yourself hanging around with balloon guy again. In relinquishing the need to be a rock star, you kinda are secretly hoping that that brave relinquishing will make you into a rock star.. Just sayin. (2015)