I, for one, anticipate great things--many of which have already been given. Subscribing to The HInternet is one of the increasingly rare things that provide some joy in my life. The pleasure of clicking on the link to a new post is something that gives me great pleasure, and the not-knowing where this click will lead is a key part of this pleasure.
This essay is not merely about a writer — it is writing as resurrection, as a wrestling with the very idea of authorship in a time when both self and story are splintering. Kevin, your exploration of Smith-Ruiu (and of autofiction’s theological, ontological, and technological implications) reads like Barthes with a confession, Nabokov with faith, and Deleuze with dread. I didn’t expect to find a meditation on metaphysics, plastic couches, and the Incarnation braided so naturally together. And yet here it is — tender, cracked, and cosmic. Thank you for daring the whole breadth of it.
A fiery star,
Kevin the Tower
(the Joyce of the South)
like a hawk circles
'round Justin Smith-Ruiu
and goes for the kill:
this is surrealism.
Only new life here, my friend. (Also, you gotta meet the other Southerners who are no doubt way more Joycean than I am.)
I, for one, anticipate great things--many of which have already been given. Subscribing to The HInternet is one of the increasingly rare things that provide some joy in my life. The pleasure of clicking on the link to a new post is something that gives me great pleasure, and the not-knowing where this click will lead is a key part of this pleasure.
This essay is not merely about a writer — it is writing as resurrection, as a wrestling with the very idea of authorship in a time when both self and story are splintering. Kevin, your exploration of Smith-Ruiu (and of autofiction’s theological, ontological, and technological implications) reads like Barthes with a confession, Nabokov with faith, and Deleuze with dread. I didn’t expect to find a meditation on metaphysics, plastic couches, and the Incarnation braided so naturally together. And yet here it is — tender, cracked, and cosmic. Thank you for daring the whole breadth of it.
Thank you for saying so! I'm thrilled you found what I tried to put in here.
Wuuut.
Yes.