Depression: the natural result of an overarching obsession with symbolism.
Tag Archives: cryptic posts
Tired as hell…random thoughts on IWPS article to think about…
and think about, and still be thinking about after it’s all over….always thinking. Nothing I will say is new or groundbreaking. Nothing is unknown or revelatory; nothing needs to be said, but it will be.
It’s just a slam, yes. It’s just a game…but focusing solely upon the game can obscure the deadly serious truth that can be found within it.
Every slammer does not play the same game when they slam.
Is it still a game if you don’t think of it as one?
If you don’t know you’re playing?
If you don’t think everyone should play?
Artists produce their work from the point of view of their own context; that is unavoidable. Critics critique from their own context; that is unavoidable. The audience for any work of art brings a context of their own to the enjoyment and understanding of the work; this is also unavoidable.
None of this is news.
The freedom to assume the absolute supremacy of your own context over all others is a luxury.
There is no such thing as a work of art that does not express a cultural heritage.
The point is, of course, that no matter how loudly I proclaim how I feel, it’s not enough. Action and inaction matter more than my feelings do, and that is as it should be — no matter what panic I feel, no matter what fear I have, I must act from my feelings for them to be honestly manifested. Otherwise, it’s as if they don’t exist.
Looking on the bright side
Sickness brings out the crank in me. I’m not entirely disappointed with that.
Some things just continue to piss me off, even though I know they’re just part of human nature and I should be more tolerant.
I used to say that I don’t act from the point of view that people are good or evil, preferring to think of them as human — prone to both good and evil, capable of astonishing generosity and startling cruelty.
Somewhere inside I still believe that, but there are days when it’s harder than others.
Have I become so jaded I can’t recall what it was like to be — I don’t know — young? inexperienced? sure of the borders between black and white?
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Also — how do you handle a critique of a poem in which the person misses the point of the poem entirely, and offers suggestions that would create a completely different poem on a completely different subject?
I had a person on Gotpoetry critique that “muse is a sadist” poem that suggested that it would be much better as a love poem about two specific people.
Considering I tossed it off at 4 in the morning as a frustrated rant about insomnia, I’m not that concerned (a real throwaway poem), but it amused me enough and and it has happened before.
watch this space
there was poetry in the cafe at night
and revolution in the air…
(apologies to Bobby D)
i am not comfortable
with what people think of me, even when it is good. especially when it is good.
there are times when the best thing you can do for all around you is to speak up, say your piece, and then shut up and suffer the consequences in silence.
the act of speaking up does not guarantee that you will get the results you want, but it’s still important to do it.
you may be lonely as hell afterward, for a long time, but you will be the better for doing it.
Dark Matter 