I don’t reckon you’ve got a joint?
yeah, ‘spose not.
guess, guess I’ll have to do the runnin’ the ol’ fashioned
way. Back along foot-steps, cross the runnin’ stream,
for the scent.
‘n I don’t, I don’t reckon you’re much for them extended metaphors?
didn’t figure, don’t hold much stake in ’em myself,
but god-damn is they popular.
people out there lovin’ the exercises the gymnasts do,
but not the way they put ’em to work.
‘n beauty for beauty’s fine ‘n all,
but what, let me ask you, what is the point?
if I’ve ever written you a love poem,
it’s ’cause I love you,
or think I do.
’cause the point, point of all this,
ain’t to show off what can be done,
but to show you what I mean,
in a way you won’t forget.
but, but, but, but, but, but let’s talk about why I ain’t finished Infinite Jest, ’cause there’s no denyin’ that it’s written justsobrilliantlythatit’sstupidandit’sprobablythefunniestnovelwrittenaboutamericainyearinyearsinyearsinyearsinyearsinyearsinyearsinyearsinyearsinyears, do you get my point yet, have I hit the mark? I hit this early mid-section chapter written all in text-speak, ‘n until this I’ve been holdin’ on through the dialects, through the mundane, through the chapters with no point, ’cause I’m fuckin’ used to bein’ asked to carry half the book’s load, ‘n I’m waitin’, ‘n I’m waitin’ for that drop when all the nonesense starts makin’ sense, ‘n it’s brilliant, ain’t no denyin’ the brilliance, plucked the brilliance ‘n smeared it over the page.
‘n I ain’t one for defimation of the dead,
but darlin’, love, David, I may well read your book, but a book that is actively tryin’ to make it hard to me to parse your message, that ain’t… that ain’t, it ain’t the best way to get the point to the most people.
‘n darlin’, love, my parser’s just as good as anyone’s, ‘n if I weren’t readin’ at work, if I weren’t readin’ when I’m sick or tired, I’m sure I would blast through that modified text speak like nothin’, but when pages ‘n pages of it glare up at you, it just don’t, it just don’t appeal. ‘n maybe it’s because I know that text-speak was widely adopted for the sake of communicating much in as little space as possible, ‘n so reams ‘n reams of the stuff just seem absurd, ‘n maybe it’s because you took the form ‘n evolved it to fit your near future. I dunno what it is, but it’s why I ain’t finished your book.
‘n I think it’s why poets ain’t read anymore.
a beauty of language is an acquired taste,
‘n we’re all heart-set on givin’ the readers the best most complex vintage we can cask.
but we all start on the light, sweet, ‘n fruity white ‘n moscato,
‘n I still need to write children’s books,
because I’m fascinated by the complexity of simplicity.
there ain’t rules,
but poetry that ain’t invitin’,
ain’t invitin’ no-one new to the game,
‘n the simple we got is purple,
‘n while that’s fine for some,
it obviously
ain’t
for
everyone.
