Tried out some Newspaper Blackout myself. It wasn’t pretty. Although there was an alarming amount of glee with crossing out entire articles, a part of me still reasoned, “I’d rather be writing, ya know.” But, yeah, it was fun while it lasted — won’t be doing more soon; the fumes give me headaches, for seriously. I liked about one, but being trained as a poetic fogey made me want to say, “This isn’t poetry!” All attempts have been buried underneath my mattress. I’m just not a Newspaper Blackout kind of girl, I guess.
Still. Austin Kleon‘s book’s verra verra interesting. Kleon takes an article, crosses about 95% of the text, and disparate little words appear to make a poem, or an aphorism, or a riddle, or a protracted knock-knock joke. It was okay. It was cool enough. It was exactly what it claims to be.
And yes, I know that I couldn’t fully enjoy it because I’ve had a stick up my, ah, I’ve been over-intellectualizing things lately. That is: What, poetics? What for? What do you mean to say? And not simply, Why not?