gemtactics : a journal

It says {version} because I want to work on this some more. I have a lot to say about this. It has a backward-forward quality. There's a movement; rather, a pause or hesitation in the midst of movement. "on the verge" Hope is like that. The central emotion was a mistrusted feeling of optimism. I linked to Carruth's poem "Likely" because there is a similar sensation of movement, but his is based in pessimism. I guess it doesn't matter as long as you're going somewhere. The imagery here is completely disorganized; I was just trying to capture a few sentences. In particular -- sentences. For this, they had a closure that I was not going to get any other way. I would give them up though. I would like to immerse myself more thoroughly in Carruth's form. That's what I would like to work towards. It's about getting over loneliness. But not quite sure if I want to, or how. Fighting getting over something. The syllable "ver" comes in more than once. I like that. Maybe it's just a gimmick though. It reminds me of "virgin." I could think about working that in. Ardhanari, the androgyne. Hmm, resistance to that. (duh) What about the empty Eden? Many possibilities. Snow. I am sure the only way I can garden again is if I come up with an adequate mythology. Garden of Eden might work. There is a toxic midden in my back yard (really). (There's also a patch of bird death in the snow.) Checkers -- I couldn't get it out of my head. It's such a low tech game. And important to get the cheapness of the checker set into the picture. Worn out cardboard, plastic pieces, some missing maybe. The cheap ticking sound. The sense of gentle competition. Checkers doesn't seem to fit in, but it wouldn't let me ignore it -- for now.

This is what it's like: I feel excited about these words, but hopeless. I don't even know if I'll ever come back to this. I sort of lost my job and I'm having gall bladder pain.

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	January 17, 2001

	On the verge Shyness hard as down in baffled quilts around my neck and head. Unwind, remove. A toxic midden lives in empty Eden, leached clean by centuries of snow. Midnight checkers, plastic ticks on cardboard, jump, jump, jump, jump, king me. Hope is that thick bracelet that strains my bird-boned wrist. I take it off. Sunday's hour of tears rains bloom fantastic in the verdance of my mind. {version}
	It says {version} because I want to work on this some more. I have a lot to say about this. It has a backward-forward quality. There's a movement; rather, a pause or hesitation in the midst of movement. "on the verge" Hope is like that. The central emotion was a mistrusted feeling of optimism. I linked to Carruth's poem "Likely" because there is a similar sensation of movement, but his is based in pessimism. I guess it doesn't matter as long as you're going somewhere. The imagery here is completely disorganized; I was just trying to capture a few sentences. In particular -- sentences. For this, they had a closure that I was not going to get any other way. I would give them up though. I would like to immerse myself more thoroughly in Carruth's form. That's what I would like to work towards. It's about getting over loneliness. But not quite sure if I want to, or how. Fighting getting over something. The syllable "ver" comes in more than once. I like that. Maybe it's just a gimmick though. It reminds me of "virgin." I could think about working that in. Ardhanari, the androgyne. Hmm, resistance to that. (duh) What about the empty Eden? Many possibilities. Snow. I am sure the only way I can garden again is if I come up with an adequate mythology. Garden of Eden might work. There is a toxic midden in my back yard (really). (There's also a patch of bird death in the snow.) Checkers -- I couldn't get it out of my head. It's such a low tech game. And important to get the cheapness of the checker set into the picture. Worn out cardboard, plastic pieces, some missing maybe. The cheap ticking sound. The sense of gentle competition. Checkers doesn't seem to fit in, but it wouldn't let me ignore it -- for now. This is what it's like: I feel excited about these words, but hopeless. I don't even know if I'll ever come back to this. I sort of lost my job and I'm having gall bladder pain.
	Hayden Carruth, "Likely"