There is always something I haven't done, that needs doing - more often somethings - some marked guiltily (papers owed for classes, files I'd promised to search for) other's with desire (the books I'd always meant to sit down and really read with all the attention I can muster) and still other's marked as obligations of the future (deadlines, expectations, etc). All told, I guess this is better - a mild bewilderment of projects there for wherever interest next goes.
I'm a poet. I am not a philosopher. I am not a psychoanalyst. But being a poet often drives me to one of the other of the latter objects, philosophy, psychoanalysis... not to mention art of all sorts (film, performance, painting, fiction, music).
Of late my head is filled with things, and many of them are thick with interest (that key index of drive). Most crucially at present in my head each day is the book, that book that is assembling of which I am a contributor and maker and so my poems (how to render a poem I only said to a page where it loses all but the static words?), my poetics (knowing that no matter how well I get them into words, that they're always at some minimal distance from the poem, a distance that always will have been found to have been distorting - and yet I try!), and much else about being the poet I am in the group I am a part of (The Atlanta Poets Group). & so much Hegel. Yes, Hegel is really filling my head lately as I'm in a course on Hegel's influence on contemporary theory and have elected as my labor for this course a patient annotation, chapter by chapter of the Phenomenology of Spirit. & there is much Lacan and thus psychoanalysis lurking nearby as I will read seminars XX-XXIII this semester.
But for all of that, this space will be for the releasing of whatever pent up interest is not absorbed by the needful outputs of those things. & thus, the anything goes-i-ness of my interest when energy remains to say something more.
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lay it on me/us