dot dot dot so you can call me homie (a punky jazzy piece)

For awhile now, I have been infatuated with the rhythm of writing.  I have explained this to b; in my life and when I have had time to formally study the craft of writing, I also happened to be studying, well, music . . . at the time.  And not for any sort of conscious willfulness the connection was made.  One of those things, I guess, that just entered, because it was time for it to enter.

What I mean by the rhythm of writing – the idea that you could string several long sentences together, a mosh up of clauses, joined in some cases for flow – in other cases – random thoughts injected, usually accented with some sort of punctuation . . . . Each phrase filled with words placed next to each other like some divine ordering of things, or instead like a random act of fuckery. A mixing of active and passive sometimes ending, precariously, with a simple sentence fragment.

For a time in my life too, I was a fan of Trey Anastasio, the lead vocalist and guitarist for the band Phish.  Myself always better on the bass then on the guitar, but I remember back to an interview he did with Guitar magazine.  The year probably 1996.  From that article – there were two main points that stuck with me . . . always, and both have impact on this rambling….

1. He as a musician truly believed that he was nothing more than a conduit channeling the things around him. & 2. That it (the music) was nothing more, really, than an exercise in tension and release (loosely grouped under a heading called dynamics).  His band Phish of course – masters of creating discord disrupting the flow of things – placing themselves in its path, tweaking it just so slightly (as *that is* the limit of the power they have over such things) – holding it briefly and . . . sometimes intensely, but moments later letting it go — on again allowing it to seek its way along the only course it could  . . . find.

And now . . . . I will give no more attention to this proposition (because I haven’t proposed) of the orgasmic quality of music.  Nor will I give any time to the concept that there is a deep correlation between music and the act of writing.  But . . . it. does. pretty much sum up what I am trying to do, well . . . here.  And indeed in this, what I try to do . . . . Could I even say that I have perfected it? Well, no! Not even close.  Should I even allow myself to type that sentence . . . ? I did and it’s done – and enter a new movement into this dialogue.

You see, a friend pointed out recently . . . my gratuitous use of ellipses . . . . Yes, a formally accepted element of punctuation that signifies either omission or alternative . . . a literary yada yada if you will.  And yes, I do, at times, use them in this most traditional and accepted manner. But . . . in more than some cases I use them, well, to a set a speed bump – like the pause or a slow mo button you might find on your TV remote. . . . What does a yellow [yada yada] mean . . .? And enforced!

To pick one reason and one reason only though — I use them instead, frequently and sometimes excessively — to simply . try . to . stay in rhythm. This would be clearer of course if you could spend just ten minutes in an office with me somewhere as I clack away at keys.  I approve its use as an editor almost all too liberally, and try not to fight it back; this habit . . . . After all, I do have a fairly conversational style, and they do pop up more frequently than need be . . . in informal communication.

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Now . . . ! To delve into what I actually set out to write about:  The word, title, self-descriptive, etc . . . Foodie (where did that come from?). It really . . . really bugs me!  As if I am some protector of the English language, or any sort of grammar or anything – I do quite enjoy running with made terms; a few . . . used above. (And forgive me all, sincerely, no sincerely — please, if I blew out our PG-13 rating here.)

But come on – does this word annoy anyone else?  “Foodie” — I mean — what the fuck does that mean?! . . . Like “a five year misson [yada yada} where no man (hrrrrmmm) has gone before ” . . . . . . but in FOOD?! What the . . . Mogg . . . it!!!!! And it’s not even Friday.

. . . And it’s not like I don’t, now, know its origin:

Foodie is an informal term for a particular class of aficionado of food and drink. The word was coined in 1981 by Paul Levy and Ann Barr, who used it in the title of their 1984 book The Official Foodie Handbook.

. . .

I am, and you know, one for filler, with this space now filled. I mean – is it fair then . . . to call me homie?  I invite you to invite me into your house . . . and I promise you . . . your woodwork will be fondled, your feng shui ogled and your mini blinds on the floor . . . ! Fair? Homie? (I guess I just have to write the book.)

Thanks . . . good night! Yes, I’m a scorpio, and we’ll be here all week . . . .

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Anywayyyyyyy — Thanks for reading and BMoxie BMore!

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