I posted POTLICKER JOURNAL online, daily,
as I wrote it, at The Daily Bulletin (www.thedailybulletin.com).
It is thus an online journal (OLJ), by a novelist, poet,
and essayist. Something new under the sun.
What genre is it? Roots music.
How many books have I published online?
POTLICKER JOURNAL was 262.
Did it catch on? Not so’s you’d notice.
and now the worldwide web has been subsumed
by color ads and animated cell-phone apps.
The final triumph of Bill Gates and Steve Jobs.
Industrialists. Philanthropists. Progress.
The small, desktop computer is dead.
It’s not just moribund, it’s deader than an ostracoderm.
Deader than a pterodactyl. At least as a vehicle for communication.
Am I not a communicator? No, I’m a crackpot, muttering in his beard.
A sandwich-board beatnik. A living fossil. Who’s blowing harp there, man?
The Search for Bridey Murphy.
The Cloning of a
Barbara Walters talking about sexual intercourse
on the Today show. Today is yesterday. Yesterday is tomorrow.
Maybe I’m a classicist. The statue of a famous general.
The garden of my native town. I see a pattern.
