done. done. done. done. done!

just put the last period on my critical paper. what a load off.

now i'll let it set for a couple days and read it again. usually i just lauch them out the door, off my plate, but i'm trying not to be hasty. (again, the zebra line comes to mind).

i can't help it that i think academia is a load of crap. i don't think we are the sum total of our works alone. the works are an expression, merely that. it's hard to say what i'm getting at. but i think so many writers out there think they are what they write. i don't buy that.

reviews, good or bad, don't make a writer.

passing an mfa program, does not an artist make.

i don't know how to say it other than, there are a lot of artists out there without one scrap of training or technique.

the critics can pick them apart, but it brings me back to my basic question, the premise of my life, what is the function of art? is it a soul expression, an attribute of who we are, an expression of our being? or is it merely a skill we develop and hone?

there is something to be said for working at the craft. there is something to be said for using ten dollar words appropriately. but the world does not revolve around expert critique.

neither does it thrive on inspiration alone.

i don't know the answer. it is yes and no. this and that. the middle road, which is where i always find myself.

here, at the end of my first semester i am no closer to my answers. no nearer my goal. but i am nearer the prize. or, the prized credential, as it were.

just yesterday i was invited to study under a great poet whom i love, to obtain my ph.d. why would i do that? do i want to do that?

what purpose would it serve?

i do not know. but it is an interesting question. and for one who seems to both love and hate academia, it is one i will have to consider.

peace out kids.