it's always new, always something new

lovely rolls from the oven

I've been obsessed with authenticity without ever calling it such. The interest in "America" and "Americana" and my poetics that lack clarity, that only fall into vulnerability--all of this is some seeking towards what's real. My own personal struggle to differentiate story from non story; those many nights where I woke up thinking nothing was, in fact, real.

My own authenticity--for lack of a better description--is something I've walked away from, felt discouraged about. I've walked in and out of paths and paved sidewalks and detours. Now, a strange detour and the only thing to think is the same thought I've known all along--I'm still a teacher always walking away from that profession, that interest, and that challenge. As if it would be too settling, to settled.

My current phase points me back to my previous phases and I might be ready this time.