Written In Poverty By Floundering Spirits

I admit that I should’ve been more forthcoming to the Editors – to Sarge Lacuesta – with what I was planning to do with the essays, and I suspect the Editors – specifically Lacuesta, and maybe even Erwin Romulo – were under the utterly maliciously ill-advised impression that I was just being an asshole about things.

I have no real clear idea if the past five days of marathon commentaries and responses confirmed that “Yes, Adam David is indeed an Asshole,” or dismissed it, and truth be told, I don’t really care, as for me, these things – Art, Commentary on Art – despite being utterly personal things, have always been separate from the Personal, and I suspect that for me, these things – Art, Commentary on Art – will always be separate from the Personal, as how it should be for all the poets and the artists and most especially the critics, if they – the poets, the artists, the critics – really truly have any palpably heartfelt ambition to do their jobs right, and yeah, it really is a job, a job that we will never ever really truly retire from, a job we can never ever truly quit. This is a life-long thing. All the more reason to do it with much earnestness.

Which is probably my Hallmark-Card OA roundabout way of saying that I won’t stop writing criticism, especially not right now, after all of these things, after it was actually made obvious to me that my essays are actually doing their work. Yeah, I’m not stopping, and it’s not like I actually had plans to stop writing criticism, anyway. I just won’t be writing these things for the Free Press anymore. Not out of ill will, or schadenfreude, or any of those things. It just doesn’t seem right, doing that. So, to paraphrase Chingbee, it’s time to take this party elsewhere, and I’m putting it back here on the Interweb, where these things actually began, and I’m putting it back here soonish, as in next week, so yeah, if everyone reading this is all still very interested, watch this space.

PS

One of the more pleasant things that happened in the past five days was the fact that Ser Bomen – via Vlad – read my essays (or at least the most recent one) and actually thought that they (or it) were (was) forward-worthy enough for his dad to read, and that they (it) may actually warm the cauckles of his dad’s cold cold heart (haha), his dad, of course, being Ser Gelacio “Gelly Belly G-Squared” Guillermo, and yeah, whatever he may think about those things (or again, just that one thing), in the greater scheme of things, me getting read by that guy, that’s not so bad, dude. Not so bad at all.

And yeah, I’m afraid that, even with me, it’s all about vanity, mehn.