I can’t use the excuse anymore that I don’t have enough time to write. Perhaps I’ve never had this much time and/or freedom to write.
Yet writing gets harder and harder in every way.
Am I losing faith in written language to mark out imaginative/intellectual space (I’ve always agreed with yet resisted Derrida’s notions of language)? I’ve written nearly every day since Gerald–or was that Henry–Ford was president. Many, many words don’t carry the connotative weight they once did, e.g. nature, soul, pimple, clit. But many words swell to take their place.
Have words lost their faith in me?
Am I settling in such a way that I’m not driven to stir up the surface of you, us, them as I once was? Is the pimpled soul the only one driven to stir up nature?
Logorrhea has always been one of my favorite words. Many bloggers gleefully carry this affliction. Maybe I’d like to catch it too in some way…