In workshop today a friend asked me about the way I format my poems, why they are so horizontally spaced out, and I talked a little bit about my interest in the page--not so much changing the page space, but working within the page space, acknowledging and using its presence. Then as I was walking home in the gross post-thunderstorm humidity I kept thinking about this question. I thought about dance, about which side of the floor is the right and which side is the left, the movement on the diagonal, towards and/or away from the back/front. The discus circle, the kicking of the toe board and the marking of paces from the front of the circle to the back, the illusion of a boundary you can't cross. The riding ring divided into sectors and halves and circles and figure eights and teardrops, all that you must imagine. And I realized that what I've been doing, unconsciously, is not just acknowledging the page, but feeling out its boundaries. I've been ECHOLOCATING. I don't really know what to do with this, but I'm interested in it. Also, both of the projects I have in mind for my thesis involve space and self-orienting, so now that makes a lot more sense. This also explains why I'm drawn to writing in prose, to working at the margins. In a roundabout way, I guess this is actually more house writing, except the page itself has become the interior space.
Is this the moment of change? The fever-break to my writing slump? Can it be, please please please?
I mostly have just been wanting to use that GIF for a long time. That's how I feel about a lot of things. Particularly humidity.