dilettantism - (in an attempt to reconcile the high brow)

in To Criticize the Critic and Other Writings, in an essay (a lecture) titled "American Literature and Language," eliot makes an attempt not to define American Literature, but to name a few quintessentially American writers. he begins where any beginner might: the names Poe, Whitman, Twain. for whatever reason, eliot believes these three writers all have the trademark of a national literature. they have, he says bravely, pedantically, "strong local flavour combined with unconscious universality." what a nice formulation. of course, eliot quickly leaves these three - along with his nice formulation - in favor of explaining the even-better-group, the revolutionaries, who look to their past, to their "national literature," and reshape the whole thing. in other words, eliot's explaining where his clan comes from. still, the idea of revolution, i think, is what is interesting about the lecture, especially considering the fact that many believe the nation (possibly the world) is experiencing a kind of revolution in literature perpetrated by the online world.

eliot writes "the writers of the past, especially the immediate past, in one's own place and language may be valuable to the young writer simply as something definite to rebel against. He will recognize the common ancestry: but he needn't necessarily like his relatives." he continues, in a slyly self-aggrandizing way, by saying that "from time to time there occurs some revolution, or sudden mutation of form and content in literature. Then, some way of writing which has been practised for a generation or more, is found by a few people to be out of date, and no longer to respond to contemporary modes of thought, feeling, and speech. A new kind of writing appears, to be greeted at first with disdain and derision; we hear that the tradition has been flouted, and that chaos has come. After a time it appears that the new way of writing is not destructive but re-creative." eliot then goes on to mention the names of the revolutionaries, so modestly leaving out himself, and then naming all the canonical writers we now know as "modernists" and "imagists" from america, the one's he's centrally grouped with.

eliot, in a quiet aside, a parenthetical seeming to emphasize the comment's unimportance, also writes that "the most dangerous tendency of American versifiers [and i'll add in prose writers as well] is towards eccentricity and formlessness," which, though eliot leaves this hushed, is obviously the downfall of a socalled revolution. i bring this up because i believe there are many signs of the eliot-revolution happening. the internet has expanded one key type of writing, sometimes called flash fiction, sometimes called a prose poem, sometimes distinguishable, sometimes not. and there's a lot of it out there. some is wonderful and i'll save the time naming names. some online writing, work, things, are not wonderful. and an even greater portion seems stunningly and dully competent. so it seems to me that at the same time a revolution occurs, there's also the inevitable result, the inevitable fallout, which is this group of competents: the dropping in of dilettantes, who copy popular forms of literary rebellion without actually knowing what they're rebelling against; word up words in a sentence so the sentences read just so, sluggishly original, painfully individual, aesthetically arrogant, vapid; create new creations that had already been done in the seventies and eighties; experiment relentlessly for the sake of experimentation, without actually saying much: "a true disciple is impressed by what his master has to say, and consequently by his way of saying it; an imitator - I might say, a borrower - is impressed chiefly by the way the master has said it. If he manages to mimic his master well enough, he may succeed even in disguising from himself the fact that he has nothing to say."

how to avoid being an imitator, a dilettante, that's all, i think, that's all i've been thinking about.

new story story

i'm in the middle of a move here (fridges suck to move, especially up steps), but the new prick of the spindle is up. i've only had a chance to click on the website and look. it looks neat. the webdesign seems niftier than usual, i mean. i will read some of the stories soon, there are a lot names i know and trust. i know and trust. know and trust. no and husky. i don't know. i'm incredibly tired. um, a guy came with our new used washer and dryer and backed the truck in and we carried the dryer into the house (much lighter than a fridge) and then got it situated and then realized that we put it in the wrong place and couldn't get the washer in so we had to take the dryer out and start again. a lot of that happened. a man with a slight lisp and new york accent sold us a fridge. on his house it said "no smoking. oxygen inside." he insisted i "back the fridge up the ramp," which for some reason i agreed to and which turned out to be a terrible idea.

enormous lake pictures i don't feel like resizing

the cabin we stayed in, whose grasses were tick infested. i got fifteen ticks, swollen lymph nodes and came back to south carolina needing antibiotics and a tetanus shot.


dog learning to do lake things.


dog trying to push a rock into the lake.



people doing people things.


the heart of the heart of the heart of the heart of the heart of the heart of the heart of the heart of the heart of the heart of the heart of the heart of the heart of the heart of the heart of the heart of

i sat in a cold spring for a minute and my hands curled up and went numb. tried to blow up things with blackcats and m-80s. ate a lot of meat. shoulders got very red and burny. played frisbee golf. watched storms. had detailed discussions of tick location, size, type, removal, etc. other things happened.

bore fiction

everyone says everything about so much bore in fiction. who wants a narrative when we have words, right? i'm unsure what to think. there's that ongoing saying by the online community: invention, creativity, newness, please nothing story-like much, please: instead of man and woman, let's have a spiral staircase of chairs, a plastic star sky, an unopened ribcage waiting in some silent sea; or at the least the consciousness of one running through obsessive thoughts, in some lonely house with locked doors, no windows; otherwise a fairy-tale or fable told realistically. so i stress a bit, get lost, confused: i don't write that, and though i enjoy reading that, that, and that, i like writing closer to what i see everyday (i won't say 'closer to what's real', of course). there are good minds out there, but i don't understand, still, ongoingly, why quiet stories, socalled 'realistic' stories, stories with people, with everyday, get pushed about. these are created worlds, just as created as any 'unconventional' thingything. sometimes subtlity gets disremembered purposefully, maybe. this is me convincing myself of myself. i need to get out of this screen into a book again.

this has been partly caused by a pulled calf muscle.

holy shit i'm still six years old and i love this

the music starts around 3:34. the interview before it is good, but the song is amazing. i think i may need to start taking things more seriously. his description of his music seems correct. 'i guess i sorta lied when i said it's not that bad.'

news

i watched the news on mute.

we have an anchor named tom crabtree.

it rained a lot today and that took an important place in the broadcast.

there may be flash floods.

tom crabtree's name kept popping up.

they showed a bi-lo parking lot repeatedly, from ground level.

a woman seemed to be describing how she was attacked in the parking lot. they showed her waving to the camera and driving off.

they showed a map of the area with a green blotches for rain. looks like a lot of rain, wow.

our dog ate a book and we yelled at him and then took him outside and he pooped and we felt bad. he was only frustrated.

tom crabtree's name.

our governor is forced to take the stimulus money.

a policeman got a dui. they showed a picture of the county where he got a dui.

someone got arrested. they showed the house and policeman milling around outside.

tom crabtree's name.

someone is stealing atm money. lt. ralph bobo talked about this. he had a very red face.

someone else got arrested. he was smiling in his mugshot.

bmw is optimistic about their future. video of the different parts of the bmw plant. body parts of people working, parts of cars on an assembly line.

tom crabtree's name.

college rankings may be manipulated. something about clemson.

pelzer elementary last day of school. a cat walking down school steps.

40 percent of people in south carolina don't have internent access. mississippi, new hampshire. that's all it said.

commercial.

tom crabtree's name.

new post about life

i believe my desire to blog is very weak whereas my desire to be outside playing frisbee golf, ultimate frisbee, basketball, walking, running is very high.

i set an old stereo on the curb thinking someone would come and take it. the cd player was broken in it, but the tape deck worked (tape deck) and so did the radio. a few minutes later a sixty year old man walked over. "is that for free?" "yes." "does it work?" "the cd player's broken, but everything else works." "and it's for free?" "it's all yours." he bent over, struggling to pick up the stereo and the speakers. "i'll get the speakers," i told him. "i got it now, just give me a second." a moment later he said "why don't you get the speakers?" walking back to his house with the stereo he said "name's Willy Mo'." Then he said, "you just move in?" I said "yes." "it's a good neighborhood. not like my last neighborhood, where a guy got shot and killed in my frontyard." i agreed it seemed better than that.

then i drove to columbus, ohio and saw many babies. that was intense. everyone goes to bed early now. the babies, they are intense. wow.

then i drove to dayton and got drunk, fucked up my leg playing frisbee, got propositioned by prostitutes, their pimp in the distance in a white suit and white pointy shoes and very slicky hair. found out a friend wrecked a helicopter and lost his job. i don't believe details are appropriate for a blog. two others are taking unemployment. i'm about to be taking unemployment.

finished a novel and posted the first couple pages on fictionaut to a moderate, yet kind, reception.

watched a friend eat an entire "Gambler," which consists of: an eight-egg omlette with cheese, peppers, onions, etc (this, itself, is amazing); two enormous pancakes, not little happy children pancakes, mean fluffy, enormous pancakes; a slab of french toast; four pieces of bacon; hash browns. we made asses of ourselves in this eatery, hungover and laughing.

missed emily for the week. spoke to her on the phone drunkenly passing the phone to numerous people.

there were other things, but i don't remember what now. got back, discovered Greenville is cool and has a good frisbee golf course and good sushi and a vietnamese place (thank you Greenville).