Yours Sincerely? Truly?

Noah Cicero in the discussion of New Sincerity, at HTML Giant said in comments something particularly articulate, or perhaps that is to say, something I can hear particularly well.

if a person has an ironic personality that constantly sees the ambiguous nature of the universe, then they will always be unsure if they are thinking, doing and believing in the rights things.
Concerning sincerity: looked up definition “Sincerity is the virtue of one who speaks and acts truly about his or her own feelings, thoughts, and desires.”
See there is a fundamental thing about sincerity, it is rooted in the transitory character of the person who writes it and the worldview they hold at the time they are writing the book.
Kerouac was being sincere through some weird buddhist catholic drug induced worldview.
Mailer was being sincere through some jewish harvard educated fought in world war 2 worldview. (speaking of Armies of the night and siege of chicago)
Yates was being sincere through some atheistic fought in world war 2 alcohol induced lived in the suburbs worldview.
Rhys was being sincere through some atheistic raised in Dominica went to england alcohol induced worldview.
If a person is truly sincere, they can give a portrait of the times they lived in, what was timeless and what wasn’t so timeless.

Maybe it is another way to say, you have no choice but to write who you are, where you are coming from or headed to.
Filters are hard to shake. Confirmation bias is hard to shake. What makes sense and seems important is filtered by what you’ve lived. You can take in the millions of details coming at you simultaneously all the time, can’t chase each one to its logical conclusions from how and why. Life isn’t long enough.
If you concentrate on making something matter that you have not lived, you are directing your future self.
You are still tangled in the mosquito net of filters. How would you write past yourself, step aside of yourself? Exercises and plunder can help that. Someone else chooses you tools. But still handed any material, you impose yourself, whether given a dictionary or butter stick to carve.
When asked why he attended so many public lectures on chemistry in London. Coleridge replied: “To improve my stock of metaphors.”
Gotham writers tweeted: “If you wrote from experience, you’d get maybe one book, maybe three poems. Writers write from empathy.” -Nikki Giovanni
You write not only from inside your margins but your margins plus.
How in infinite choice do you choose which plusses to add?
Maybe you value something because someone you value values it so extend yourself in that way. Maybe it seems something one “should” know and it largely makes no sense but a skew of 1% resonates — you focus on that and it leads places in a wikipedia leapfrog sort of way. Maybe you add a plus because it is not comprehensible, a glimmering signal of not-here-therefore-good-enough-for-me.
Is self inescapable? Probably. But there are things that seem more repeated, core, characteristic, defining. That’s what gets billed as voice, those quirks that one is compelled to squirt. Is this called “authentic” too? Or “sincere”? If it is bullshit, at least it is recognizably distinctive as your own? If one decides to perform poetry in only a certain manner, keep to that palette even when one caricatures oneself, or is bored but in a rut, or engaged but everyone else is bored, does it matter if there’s a true to selfness?
Sincerity doesn’t mean raw. It doesn’t mean constant cosmic awe. One can sincerely be avoidant. One can sincerely show a mask one loves best, some common man hokey, or some provocateur that never shows “human vulnerability”. One can spend decades sincerely plying the water or profound around every corner. Everything is sincere and everything is delusions. Both are opt in labels. What could be said to be meaningful “sincere”, “real”. What is outside the frame is reality is about the frame not the reality. Or we can say sincere is what we really believe and the rest is humour, satire, irony, allegory, hyperbole. But what if what we sincerely believe is nihilism, dark comedy of universe of unreality of all? That messes up the model.
If you model the universe in poetry, which you can’t help but do as every gesture is an expression of where you are in time and space and understanding of intention, how to move or determine movement is finished? What is a unit? What matters is completeness perhaps, even if it a fragmentariness. Is it pushed to the reasonable limit of what makes it adequately complete?
All have margins around that have implications of what is not being addressed and one can fill those with suggestions of what omissions could indicate.
Maybe it’s my preoccupation, the sense of unconscious intention. One gravitates to what one needs, builds what one misses. A writing is one’s baby, a sort of grow your own supporters project in absence of proper family support, perhaps.
Irony has one foot on belief and one on disbelief, playing safe on base. Sincerity makes a run for the next base and risks being tagged out.
Irony is self-aware. Sincerity can be self-aware and proceed anyway. In the discussion, Tim Jones-Yelvington says relates from Sontag’s Notes on Camp, “Camp introduces a new standard: artifice as an ideal, theatricality.”
Camp can exaggerate irony or sincerity. It has a sense of humour that is kindly more than mocking perhaps while satire is hurt and anger turning sad to pretty.
Adam Jameson said in that article’s comments, “Manifestos[…] did announce a movement. And one thing that movements do is move.”
People flow towards, away. Change, adapt, rewrite, overwrite, change the rules, follow those until thrown over. Or until one expresses with life in some different area of life instead.