Literary philosophy is a tree of opposing forces, grafted onto one trunk. Its fruit looks like none other in the forest. Always, my first emotion is to flee philosophical systems of thought and find freedom of expression. My literary philosophy is not to have a literary philosophy.
If I were to have a literary philosophy, it would have to lie outside the sum of all that has been done in the name of western art, philosophy and religion. It would be one that is not based, no matter how cleverly disguised, on five hundred years of exploitation and domination. It would not be grounded in glass walls that disallow others freedoms to think freely, rhyme, dance, sing, laugh, fall, make mistakes and have second chances.
If one does not want magic in words, take a picture with an I-phone, record the conversation on a micro-chip and then write. I have no interest in pixilated images or narrative for the sake of narrative. My writing is a mixed media of fact and fiction, theories and myth, symbols and imagination free of pixil, premise and plot. It is crafted toward a story that, when successful, colors both character and reader. If there is a twelve-step program to make this happen, I do not want to find it. If I had an artistic philosophy, it would be as spirit migrating from one idea to another, flying to faraway theoretical places, touching land only for what is necessary for the creation of myth and magic.