Near the peak of my frustrations I dwell; for I have attempted for a week to write a note in which I elucidate certain points about art and poetry, about literary creation, mythology, Logos and philosophy. The note hasn't come through since I've been always interrupted either by a friend, either by an idea, either by a phone call.
I wanted to talk about the death of the writer, making it clear the death of the writer comprises many other topics I shall devote myself to in the future. I want to claim and manifest I'm no poet or other kind of artist for I totally lack of the knowledge, the wisdom and acute of observation of the world that are necessary for the mother of the arts. I want to make observations about the poor language in which I write and how needlessly elevated it is leaving all content asides.
Yet I haven't been able to write this note, instead I've been writing poetry. Quartets in verse without syllabic counting yet according to my knowledge I've had but a few mistakes following the metric pattern. Despite the overwhelming influence held unto me by my Greek education I've stemmed a few ideas of my own that I hold for a couple of years already. Being my poetry and writings still unread I can't say I've been judged by the proper eyes but if so I firmly believe I would be nothing by deceived on the ground of my poor language and linguistic shortcomings.
It's difficult to try and understand language from the perspective of the linguist and from the perspective of the philologist and yet attempt to write a poem. One believes in everything that is writing as communication and acceptable form of language and even considers the musty scholarly literature a "dead matter". The other is simply devoted to slavishingly follow a text and in his eyes nothing in human hands produced can be compared to the splendor of other days, of other times.
The linguist and the philologist are trapped in cages of time, one way forward into the future and the other in a bygone past. Unlike Ari and Elliot their paths have never seemed to meet. They are based upon different conventionalisms. It's a struggle in which one despises the other. I believe I need far more knowledge to be able to write such a note, a better understanding of the Logos, less nicotine and far more investigation. My conclusion are very premature and neglect the opinion of others.
Even after Isobel's manifesto I can claim I'm no writer. Just a real persona pretending to be a writer. I might just be judging myself with extreme severity but I still can't write odes, I'm just at odds.