I asked google to convert the fraction
3/14 into decimals. The artificial intel
(default now in a google search),
tells me that I am approximately
0.2142857 of the way through
my entire record collection, and
that the six digits that follow the tenths
are apparently a series of numbers
that will repeat indefinitely, infinitely,
forever and ever, amen. I started this
project 83 days ago and have written
67 poem-like-things. Right now, I do
not have the patience to tally the number
of records I’ve spun: that math can wait.
FYI: I’m listening to almost everything in my vinyl collection, A to Z, and writing a long skinny poem-like-thing in response for each artist. I’m taking a break from listening today to do some math. The fraction in this poem and its decimal equivalent represent the progress I am making on the project. As of yesterday, I’ve listened to every record in my first three storage boxes, and then some, all the way up through the letter C. As I write this, even though I’m somewhat pleased with the above poem, I realize that 3/14 is not really an accurate fraction, as my Bowie collection, stored inside of these massive slipcases, do not fit inside the storage boxes, and instead, are being stored in a tall bookcase. I’d venture to say that the Bowie albums alone constitute at least the equivalent of one more storage box. So let’s say, more accurately perhaps, that I am 4/15 through the collection, or 0.26666666666666666666666666. In some ways, that’s a more beautiful number by a long shot.
What’s an American sonnet, you might be asking. As far as I can tell, it’s a 14 line poem that transgresses against every other sonnet convention: it’s not in a strict iambic pentameter or any other meter and it doesn’t follow a rhyme scheme, often doesn’t rhyme at all.
Next up, the letter D.
michael jarmer 