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Fiona Apple: The Extraordinary Machine

I am so in love with  Fiona Apple, it isn’t funny. I have every album of hers and a lot of her songs are on constant repeat in my iTunes. I cycle through them and my favorites always change, but currently, I’m totally enamored by Slow Like Honey from Tidal. Red, Red, Red and Oh Well from Extraordinary Machine. And, of course, I Know from When the Pawn. But then again, I Know is, like, my anthem.

So be it I’m your crowbar, if that’s what I am so far…

Goodness! The lyrics of that song cuts me deep into the core. And the music couldn’t have been any more stirring. And now that she’s got a new album coming up and she’s doing this big tour in the United States, all my friends who adore her as much as I do are abuzz with Fiona Apple this and Fiona Apple that. And I’m just soaking it, remembering that I was the first person in my circle to ever buy a cassette of Tidal sometime in 1996 and played it like crazy in my school org’s office.

Last night, I was in the mood to write a poem and since I was sort of in the dumps, I wanted to attempt to write something very verbose and wordy and articulate and in doing so, compromised the intention of the persona to show how insecure and afraid s/he felt. That the words were disguising his/her fear. I wrote and wrote, hoping to capture Fiona Apple’s eloquence and wordiness. She was the peg. I was attempting to capture her.

I failed completely. Everything I wrote did not have that articulation. I wasn’t achieving my intention. I saved the draft and posted Ars Poetica last night just to somehow manage to create some level of achievement. I think Ars Poetica is not yet finished and deserves some more time in the draft folder, but it’s out now. I jumped the gun. I’m just glad somebody liked it.

At least I know I’m in the right direction with it.

There are several more poems in my head that I need to peg down. I think I’m ready to deal with the topics at hand but I’m not comfortable with the approach. The objective correlative of each piece still needs work and I’m just bursting out at the seams wanting to lay the tracks.

But I have been busy. Been writing other stuff, work stuff, and getting things done. I’m prolific again and I’m finding new ways to present myself. I love my writing when I’m writing letters to loved ones. I wanted to capture that in my professional writing. I told my Dad about it and he gave me a process I could try to adapt to put some of my personality and character to my non-fiction work. Even my blog seems devoid of my character or personality. Honestly, really, I’m much more funny and pleasant than this!

I had a conversation last night and wrote a couple of e-mails to friends and family and I got to talking about poetry and writing and the writing voice, and all of it sort of cemented into me that I really, really love what I do and I really want to get so much better at it. Without it, I’ll die.

I haven’t written enough poems yet. I haven’t written enough essays yet. My memoirs aren’t even finished yet. I’m far from done.

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