i am beginning to enjoy the feeling of being on sound mute. no one understands what i am saying. i understand no one. i can read a little bit of french ('read' a stackful of Voici in French last evening - the language of crass tabloids is universal!), but not have conversations. when people are awake and relatively stressfree, they translate headlines of the conversation for me. when they are tired, distracted or preoccupied i fade into being an exotic backdrop. liberating. and necessarily solitary.
Kari's experience is the same, but a little worse. her visual language is impermeable and too foreign for most. 'too classical' said one publisher. 'too many shifts in style' said another. 'too many words' said the third. since no one here is reading the text, Kari's fate almost entirely hangs by the perilous thread of face-value. and that is a battle she isn't going to win. not here. the sensibility here is clean cut, stylized, minimal, and ironic. Kari is messy food eaten with the fingers, there is drip and there is lick. not everyone likes.
anyway. if, indeed, i want more people to access the writing ('the' writing; not 'my' writing - it is not a one-person effort anymore) - i need to figure out how. 'try to make the book more consistant' a good gentleman suggested wrt Parva/The Epic. consistancy is such an alien virtue. i must gather my skirts and chase it accross the lawns ;)