Random Acts of Senseless Me

I was going to start a new blog, but fuck it. I’m passed any attempt to refigure my life in such a way to deflect criticism. I am, as Ralph Ellison wrote in Invisible Man, what I yam. I have decided that every sentence in this post will begin with the personal pronoun I. I have told students not begin sentences with I. I have been told by teachers not to begin sentences with I. I and I means you and me. I and I don’t have to be what you and me tell us we have to be. I’m facile in my use of language. I’m masterful in the deflections I place upon myself to hide something. I don’t even know what that is anymore. I am saying this, though: there is very little that is going on any more that is of any genuine concern. I and I are killing people, feeding people, beating people, uplifting people. I do not mean to be relativistic. I do mean that thinking that one can exert control is truly facile. I claim to want to write with more dexterity. I write about anything I love, or anything I hate. I don’t really hate anything. I don’t know if that is right. I want to know what love is. I want you to show me. I know that hate hangs around me like a grey cloud in the Northern hemisphere in February. I don’t want to begin any more sentences with the pronoun I. I know that no one is reading this. I know that I thought this was prose, but it’s really poem. I’m out.

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One Comment on “Random Acts of Senseless Me”

  1. Shamus says:

    I find this very soothing and insightful. I like the tone and underlying darkness and directness. I find the darkness isn’t sad but more so showing, or illuminating things otherwise hidden. I find it paradoxical. Using darkness to illuminate the undercurrent of what I and I have been shown.


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