a lil over a week of being married and i can tell you that my life has never been fuller, healthier and happier. werd.
put up some 8 foot tall curtains yesterday. picture my just-right-height-wise-by-ecuadorian-standards up on a hella long ladder with my power drill. yeah, i know, its a sight to behold.
you read right: i have a power drill. it does not define me.
i also have a tool box. it does define me.
add minestrone soup to my culinary repertoire. coming soon: pumpkin pie!
outside the home: i just dropped a 1,500 word short story for my creative non-fiction class. it gets workshopped tonight. a lil nervous going into this since i dont know how this group will attack the work. the facilitator has already taken grammar off of the discussion board which is a good thing even though this bad boy should be grammatically sound. (thanks to wonderful computah technology, of course.)
time to worry over. the story has a pretty sound base and goes through some nice curves while never forgetting its base premise. think of it like fancy stitching over a solid inseam line. still a lil worried but thats what happens when ya experiment.
speaking of experiment, i have come to the recent conclusion that ALL poetry is just an experiment. is this old territory that has been covered endlessly before? not by me, and its my blog ya know.
i’m thinking that the narrative is the norm, the main unit of speech. by speech i mean “telling a story.” poetry, by virtue of messing with that unit – in its desire to break the narrative down to stanza, line and sound breaks – goes against that natural manner of storytelling in an attempt (read: experiment) to differentiate itself (reinvent?).
all this to say that i am starting to find the term “experimental poetry” quite oxymoronic. if you aren’t trying to tell *the story* in a new way, why bother with poetry?
mini-rant done. time to hop on the bus and enjoy my time at work.