reading things written by people who know that language doesn't have to be pretty, because the prettiness is really just hiding the deep empty nothingness that you find when you're jeffery lewis writing songs on the gee-tar. and i think, at the bottom of flowery beautiful language is the truth that i have nothing to say and no reality to say it with.
AND
remembering a conversation i had about writers that hated the fifties so deliberately wrote poems that they thought were terrible to teach everyone a Lesson about beat poetry, but then they were published and everyone loved them and their Point had been Proved or whatever, but a good point was made i think when he said had it really, because didn't that come from somewhere, some writer's subconscious, with the trying to be bad just making an antithesis of art; and antithesis, for all it is, can't be nothing.
