A Scene Of Constant Chaos

“The battlefield is a scene of constant chaos. The winner will be the one who controls that chaos, both his own and the enemies.”
– Napoleon Bonaparte

#3
the serious writer battles with himself, by himself. there’s nothing epic about that fight: but it is useful to his writing. he traces internal twisters; he feels tormented by twitching; his senses enact some bizarre swordplay for an audience of one; the outer shell of his writer persona is attacked by the intimate inner self; he envisions a prodigal son being eaten by his own father while the father chews the boy’s foot, which is squarely stuck in his own mouth. he sleeps badly, wakes up early stories in his ear but when he removes the plugs that protect him from street noise, he also removes the remnant of dreams which is all he has got right now. he considers the semicolon to be his friend now, perhaps his ownly friend in the world, except perhaps the penguins of megalia.

#2

what could you do with 100 days. at the end of a long life: when you’ve seen so many what’s the big deal, days are months mashed up. at the start of a life: when you don’t know yet how much a day can mean, or a minute. somewhere in the middle when you’re struggling with the notion of time lost or found or wasted or wandering around among your memory bits like a drunken sailor looking for a bit of fluff. what you could do with 100 days: have a daily look at “100 days 2011”, a creative cooperative in its fourth year: you can also go back 1000 years with me.

#1

(1) i went to a carnival the other day, a language carnival, an elvysh affair. (2) i found myself in the flash fiction chronicles, burning. happy i said i, i said happy. a little e e cummings i said & i showed myself. (3) i joined the brave cast of the ulysses meets twitter 2011 project. on twitter everyone says i & sometimes they say you but mostly i, i said. (4) i found myself in pure slush which was great, a trieste memory trip, a wild ride, in the nude, & again joyce, & now i have to re-publish a part of ulysses all by mi-self. ja-ah. (5) atticus review i love and i love it & i see myself there before the bloodbath a piece that began with a picture. oh-my gray. (6) a moondog i’d like to be. blue i am, blue sam. (7) & red lemonade i drink. little for now, beta-lemona.de. self-myself-publishing genius, nash-man.



[don’t be confused, please. it’s been a tough month despite all these new, wonderful projects and publications. i’m in mid-term and in the throes of a new larger work as well. i feel helpless, undervalued and unappreciated by none other than myself, and i’m talking to myself about it on a daily basis, alternating carrot and stick. will see where this goes but for now i’m okay, just okay, giving myself self-affirmations. next gastarbeiter up at N2F is james lloyd davis, veteran, novelist and friend of don quixote. for my latest publications go: here. for my latest projects see: here.]

6 thoughts on “A Scene Of Constant Chaos

  1. love being tagged by flawnt, love coming here and finding you musing about ee cummings and james joyce and penguins and lemonade and 100 days. battle on, my friend. you make it look fun (even if you’re unsure whether to use the carrot or stick — try both simultaneously perhaps? a little pain, a little pleasure. yes yes, that’s it. accompanied by debussy and gershwin).  

  2. Just keep swimming. Writing is in the blood…There is no escape except death (not in the Hemingway kinda way either). I’m trying to reconnect and getting extremely lost in the n-ether… got to start all over again and try to reconnect. But I never stop writing 😎

    • Thank you for leaving a comment, @jodine – and from so far away (considering where I stand, in Berlin). Gosh, I wrote this such a long time ago and rereading makes me realize that I am in quite a different state now. For one thing, I’m not engaging at all with the net – all my attention for writing actually goes into writing or researching before writing; for a few years there, I spend a lot of time on the net and it was interesting and useful, too. But if anyone is thinking about writing as a serious business I think they better stay away from the net. It is the great time-sucker. What you get from it, in the long term, does not add up to an oeuvre or to a book. Not missing it either, actually. Though I am gratified by the many visitors this blog still gets no matter how rarely I manage to update it.

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