Scrawled this in my notebook on the early morning of September 13th.
I drank this super powerful tea earlier during dinner and couldn’t fall asleep — heart was beating a little too fast.
To wear down my restlessness, I tried going for my usual medicine: reading super technical writing by dull table lamplight. I alternated between a science paper discussing an interpretation of Rand Fisher’s “average effect” and a recent entry from The Paris Review’s vaunted interview series, “Art of Poetry No. 97,” with Susan Howe.
My eyes did grow woozier, my muscles wearier from my odd bedtime reading positions, yet overall, my mind became more excited. Despite just beginning to grasp the concepts broached and implied in either piece, I saw, I felt a glorious, milky thread connecting not just some fucking thing called Language Poetry to population genetics, but wormholing together the academic depths of every subject in between. The thread is an arm of a ghost of a galaxy I cannot begin to commit into words.
I am still too ignorant and wonder whether my small self can ever develop the thorough awareness of detail necessary to articulate this vision into specific terms.
I want to puke — there are so many things I will never know.
I need to drink tea more often.
I need to get better at disappearing. Will be working more offline in the coming months.