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Joan Didion Persona Poem

Joan Didion Persona Poem

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Published by John Peacock

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Published by: John Peacock on Sep 22, 2010
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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09/21/2010

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Captions for a Picture Magazine: A Joan Didion Persona Poem
-You are quite possibly impatient with me by now; I amtalking, you want to say, about a "morality" so primitivethat it scarcely deserves the name, a code that has as its point only survival, not the attainment of the ideal good.Exactly.-Joan Didion, "On Morality"
I.You don't know. You weren't there.And furthermore, on this matter  pardon my blitz of fragmentationand splices.There was a time,namely in the sixties, althoughthe details escape me,when the world found somethingin dwelling in Sacramento.(I won't call it joy, or living)for none of us are ever really aliveuntil Sacramentois in the rearview, and we'reSan Fernando Valley-bound.Hemingway once saidsomething about loose wordslosing their edge,and despite my brokennarrative, I could not agreemore.IronicallyI read that quotefrom a quarter-zineone evening whenthe broken world lostits zeal,and yesterdayI recall the world set ablazeand needed to removemyself from this
 
 processof pen-to-page, andso forth.II.And yet the story I haveto tell of that brokenworldrevolves in sentencesand might goa bit astray,like this:"Why do we like those stories so?"So what?Recall the
Titanic
sinking beside Zelda Fitzgeraldand the literati...out to get me,surely, as the sixties did,the guilt, the power, the inflectionof the nineteenth century,and later Howard Hughes owns Nevada.Bastard.III.You don't know. You weren't there.And by that logic,shame on those whoenjoyed
The Panic in Needle Park 
 because of what I didor didn'tknow about heroine. Aboutdrugs and the intoxicationof co-writing.Venture to Broadway and 72nd Street
 
and I'll show a drug problem.At once I amreminded this letter is to reachthe a voice of separation inthe broken shipof dreams and goldenfreewaysotherwise known asCaliforn-eye-aye.IV.There was the timeI shot asheriff...or ...maybe that wasa Clapton song, but the timing fits.V.As it happens, I amcommitted to thelanguageof the Self, and by the Self I surelymean the soul, and bylanguage I surely meanmy mastery of it.You must master the language beforeyou can fuck it up.That is the problemwith the world, withthe hydroelectric power plants and nuclear disasters,with the drowningworld and misdiagnoses

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