Yet Another Nod to the Crickets

‘Nobody cares*‘, and I write. You know, for the crickets. I am probably going too fast with the frequency of posts here, but I’ll always write when I feel like doing so, as long as I don’t run out of gas soon, or writer’s block hits me hard. Posting is the least of the problems (if it’s a problem at all). Either WordPress says, “fine, you won, now spreading your posts to the grasshopers”, or things remain like they are now. It’s a win-win (because I can’t afford to lose).

I don’t feel like sharing my stuff on social media or the likes, where nobody typically cares for what you write but the image you project, so either people will discover this blog by chance or yay, the crickets will rule this.

Important to note, don’t expect me to write often pieces other than for art’s sake, although there is nothing inherently wrong with writing utilitarian art. Anyone’s entitled to write for social change or the likes, for instance; and I am entitled to focus mainly or solely on aesthetic, the natural world, the language itself, mundane experiences, etc. All while taking advantage of metalanguage, metaphor, imagery (although I can’t, myself, visualize), diacope, etc.

Some are just born with the mojo. I was born with the tenaciousness.

You’re few, but you’re the good ones. Feel free to leave a comment

*I literally mean it ‘in quotes’.

Forthcoming Union

Those who wander and are lost
Those who wonder and are last
May they find each other’s paths

Grasping the rationale behind the title choice would require thinking outside the box, but that’s on you, reader. If I explained it right away, it would feel like explaining a joke, more precisely giving it away (a puzzle). Sure, without that bold claim of mine, there would be no ‘puzzle’, not one that you would be aware of. Play along and see where it leads.

Feel free to leave a comment.

On Reading, Writing, Attention Span, and Bull Riding — or How to Build a Shitty Analogy, and Write About it With Confidence

Reading might feel like bull riding these days: eight seconds (at most), and most of us are off. The time it takes to read roughly forty words, a paragraph like this one — that’s our average attention span. It might be less, but hardly any more than that.

A writing might be a Bodacious bull or a meek one (strength under control). Undeniably, though, we have more bulls to ride (writings to read, stimuli competing for our attention). “Er…” Go ahead, say it. “Now that’s some ‘bull shit’ you are talking about.”

How do you plan your writing so the  reading is of a comfortable pace (not too fast, not too slow) and are not an overwhelming force (too much information thrown together, too dense language) for the reader? Attention is valuable and scarce in the digital age.

So, enough with this writing. I don’t want to overstay my welcome — not for this particular writing. I might have gone to extremes just to make a point (I might fail, but I put enough thought into my writing). See you next, net cowboy.

I wrote it and went running.

First of the Series: Translating my Portuguese Poems

Automaton

circumstantial nomad
automaton in the desert
while there is breath of wind

MichaelFrey, CC BY-SA 3.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

I tend to aim for a balance between literal translations and formal equivalence. In this case I can only say that both the original and its English version have cool distinctive free rhythms.

The original, in case you wonder:

Autômato

nômade circunstancial
autômato no deserto
enquanto há fôlego de vento