Whatever it is, it must have
A stomach than can digest
Rubber, coal, uranium, moons, poems.
Like the shark, it contains a shoe.
It must swim for miles through the desert
uttering cries that are almost human.*
We're taking pieces of the world and stringing them together, this is composition
. Some bits are crafted
and some are thrown together
. Later, people pull the threads tighter
, create new layers of meaning or dissonance
In ordinary composition, the composer sure has it over the audience: the work is untouchable. But we've got something better! We are the composers. We are the characters, the creation (of everything, of ourselves): the plot.. editors, the Deus of our machina? We're actors, we're the opposite of people! Ok, but seriously. I hadn't written anything in ages. All of a sudden, there's this new (to me) medium, and i'm writing compulsively (Note: i didn't say well, i said compulsively). We build on each others works, and create a vast, self-referential piece, with intentions of grandeur, Ambrose Bierce impersonations, and large patches of trivia and triviata. So it's community, a database... but even our dry facts are art. They're the shark's shoe, just to show that Everything can assimilate it all, from polyvinyl chloride to a tiny poem i dreamed.
If this isn't nice, what is?
We're assimilating the things that make ourselves (most first novels are veiled autobiographies), from memories to lyrics to insecurities to algorithms. (Help me, i want to make my prose more lightweight, but the words won't cooperate..)
I guess i'm saying this is damn cool, an art form, a shark, the apple of my eye, an obsession, a lament, a party, a drug. We gots gurus and heroes and badasses. We have bad days, sure, and bad ideas, and trolls, and sometimes need a scolding, (or even a whipping, or a whuppin'), and even if people in the chatterbox can't stop talking about voting and XP, still, even then, we're fantastic. Honest. And worth reading, since reading helps compose as well. Almost a better model for reality than reality itself. I think.
*American Poetry, by Louis Simpson