During Exploratory Reconnaissance (Where New York-as-Digester came into being)
(I said to J-dawg via FBk message on May 15, 2010 at 4:25pm) “My session was about to expire, so had to wrap that up quickly. May have mentioned staying in a hostel in Bushwick, which is an interesting mix of warehouses, corner shops, Latin American characters and hipster types who seem to be slowly moving from W’burg, though that’s just a v superficial impression. I still haven’t been into Manhattan, going today for a walk around, Bryan and Laura and crew were in great form last night. Depending on my mood, I am either v excited or wondering “wt fuck!” with regard to coming to live here. Everything is so full on, it’s kind of crazy. Glad to be involved in something like the MFA, though that itself will probably be full on, too. Anyway, it’s going to be interesting, to say the least! Hope you’re doing well, talk to you soon. The Psychic Paramount were, again, pretty fucking great.”
(J-dawg replied, via FBk message on May 15, 2010, at 4:37pm) “sweeeeet….it will most likely eat you alive only to regurgitate you so you can start the process of being eaten alive all over again. hopefully you will experience life changing ideas, attitudes, personalities, and … along the way…..
Explanatory (Footnote on the Faeces)
My name is David McLoghlin. I’m a poet, writer and translator from Ireland, and the author of Waiting for Saint Brendan and Other Poems, which was published by Salmon Poetry in July 2012. I have lived in Ireland, Spain, Belgium, France, the USA, and travelled in a variety of countries (including Morocco, Czechoslovakia (when it was that country), Paraguay, Uruguay, Argentina and Norway), whilst engaged in a number of pursuits. I moved to New York City to study an MFA in Creative Writing (poetry) at NYU in late August of 2010, and graduated in May of 2012. After almost 4 months’ semi-anonymous blogging, I added this proviso: “adding this self-identifying clause to the contract seems a somewhat redundant confession – of the garden variety. It wasn’t that I needed anonymity, though naming myself feels a wee bit anodyne. Any boasting, or self-inflationary tactics aside, the whole point of New York Peristalsis isn’t about who I am, what my lapdog’s name is, who the lady he belongs to is, or the type of biscuits I like to bake, and what cookie cutters I use whilst doing so. Maybe I also decided to add my name and face to this peristalsis (to claim my “children”, these “friends” of mine) because whilst writing faceless can add something of the freedom of the fictional to the endeavour, readers who aren’t close friends and family might trust the messenger more if they can put a face to the digested.
So: this blog has come about as a way of providing a catch-all for thoughts and impressions related to moving to NYC, and settling in. Culture shock, in essence, and all her ugly sisters. At odd moments, on the way to here and there, I’ve become interested in the way in which what is essentially diary- or “journal”- writing already begins to transform from private into something more public, less introspective, when it has an audience in mind. I’m also noticing the way in which things that would have otherwise languished in a box or bottom drawer are beginning to take on another life here; and, also, how when your eye is tuned to an audience, and to the endless, crazy richness of detail (and craziness) that’s out there in what’s becoming your everyday life – well, you write it down. While the beast absorbs you, you take notes. That’s all we ever do, though perhaps in a city like this, you’re more likely to notice the peristaltic motion, the intestine you’re in. (Ok, after this, I’ll limit titlular self-referentiality to once every… two posts, or so.) (24th December, 2010).”
This has still not quite become an “author” or “authorly” blog, and are we not better off that way? (30th January,2013.)