Carry On Wayward Son

Muscle memory is a bitch.

In general, the second I hear classic rock on the radio, my fingers change the station. It's not that I don't like classic rock, but that my only exposure to it happened for those four terrible, wonderful, terrifyingly full years of high school. So, yes, I get a little nostalgic when I hear "Back in Black" or "Cat Scratch Fever" or "We're An American Band." But nothing, and I mean Nothing makes me react the way I do to "America" from West Side Story or that little ditty by Kansas (see title).

Luckily, the local station doesn't have much use for old show tunes. But for the last three weeks, I've heard the damn song every Thursday morning as I drive to school.

It wouldn't be that bad, if Supernatural didn't also use it as a theme song. Or if the roommate didn't take a certain glee to my wide eyes and panicked breathing. But lately, it's like everywhere I turn, there's those strong downbeats, and my wrists flex without my permission on the steering wheel.

Hence, muscle memory's bitchiness.

This one time, at band camp

It's in the blood. It's the source of shivers (of slivers).
Pulse turned to pulp by the blender beat of drums.
This three minute death and rebirth burns at the crescendos.
Canvass burns at first, but for this we pray:
Love, split lips and numb fingers,
Clear, crisp skies and a hidden flask,
The seamless motion of the stars as our own.
It is born in full from the first,
No rising to life, but complete it bursts
Whole and unwrapped
For bloody mouths and splintered palms to embrace.

Chapter 2, or, Amy Re-re-revisits Burke

Chapter 2 of the dissertation is currently titled "Burke's Dystopian Imagination." Last summer, I presented a paper at the Triennial KB conference on a panel with His Most Awesomest Jack Selzer, who, along with Ann George, wrote the Totally Rad Kenneth Burke in the 1930s. After Kate's Really Cool Burke video project presentation, Dr Selzer gave me a few notes on my presentation, the key one being that if I was going to do it right, I'd need a whole book--i.e. 10 pages of conference presentation didn't do justice to the thing (his word) I was noticing about Burke.

When I was "given the opportunity" (their words) to rethink my dissertation, I immediately thought of Selzer's advice. At this point, however, moving to a historical, archival dissertation (NOT MY STRENGTH) would have meant another 18 months at Purdue, without funding, so I changed it up and went with the plan I'm now following. Still, I was left with an entire chapter--upwards of 50 pages--to do something like what I imagined before: a review of Burke's general social philosophy throughout his corpus, hopefully linking the subtle changes, as George and Selzer do, to his changing localities, his "circles" of influence.

The result? I'm stuck on page seven, nowhere near even beginning to quote Counter-Statement. I'm stuck where I was when I wrote the Burke presentation the first time: outlining my assumptions about what counts as dystopian literature, what makes something a dystopian argument. Because I can't show how KB is dystopian until I do that, but I also can't explain what I mean by "dystopian" until I can use Burke's terms.

Ouroboros. The snake eating its own tail. Consummation has never looked so complex.

Random Writings

exstasis

What air fills these lungs,
they that will sing and sing
and deny
the beauty of spaces and faces
in favor of seeking lightening-wrought hearts
steeled by flame to hope!
The upbeat of the canvass cuts through the veil
and enflames the waiting spirit within--what blue skies
and cobbled streets humming in harmony
drain us of, of trying to be!

Once our skin was breaking from containing the desire
but now we stretch our wings to hold room in unbidden embrace.


December 23

Some commands cannot be followed: Remember!
Scuffed terra cotta ground with sand, aside;
Cheeks flushed against the sun, aside;
aside from the sound of hushed steps
and the prick of hollow watching eyes,
these things band too loosely and are denied.

Even though breaths can be counted and heart beats tamed,
even though absolute stillness of the body attained,
and blood slows to stagnant deep in veins
and pain disperses in heat across white skin
Even though the door is opened, nothing comes in
Remember: some commands cannot be followed.

September
From the first of September, the center starts to break
and once the nucleus has shattered, the cell walls bow out
from the first cold crackle, the ceiling sags down
under the weight of salt water, the dirt path is unmade


inGrained

Patent faith soaked to the feet
the fear of god, of water
of drowning in the stares,
falling on the stairs of the baptistry,
where we as children played,
dry and content to be unwashed.

But when guilt pours down and paints our skin--
the faults of a thousand aching sins--
then must we speak,
into the mic, into the air,
over the sobbing piano chords
that accompany such confessionals.