Whutchu’ Talkin’ Bout?
The AOMuse is the literary alter ego of declassified double agent Michael Strode who finds ease and pleasure in reviewing books, writing poetry, increasing the humanity of the world through artistic and literary engagement and debriefing the political zeitgeist of the present era.
At the Literate Epoch, you will find these mental meanderings and episodic leave behinds. You may even grow to enjoy them. If you find this to be the case, leave a thought behind of your own. Let us build a bridge of dialogue together.
one day my soul asked me if I needed to be heard, we don’t talk much any more.
i opened an aorta twisting on a bloody valve of the heart as i lay my hand to papyrus and proceeded to pen the details of a hieroglyphic mission; a vision in picturesque word form that shows me where i need to be.
this is a journey to the epoch when words mattered most and you could grow rich upon the strength of a listening ear and a hungry heart. feel.
In the study of communications, the literate epoch is defined as the period when the world was making the shift from the tribal epoch and oral culture to the phonetic alphabet. Writing and reading began to expand as a medium of human communication. This shift enabled a greater supply of information to be accessed and held by each human being since they no longer had to maintain the data within their own head. Information could be written down for for reference by themselves and future generations.
Let this blog stand upon the precipice of such a transition and be the bridge from our present digital age back to a time of orality, pages and letters where we might listen closely to each other once again. The tribal and literate epochs will merge and we can engage one another across the broad distance created by digital culture and build upon our relationship by talking, sharing and being with each other more deeply. Is that a paradox? To use a digital medium to deconstruct the barriers created by that same digital medium? So be it.
I am writing. I AM writing. Unable to distinguish my self from the substance leaking from the rolling contour of my ball point. I am language longing for certainty in subject and sentiment; this sentient being discontent with seeing this uncertain world circulating around itself. I am writing again.