yes

poetry

2021/12/24 #poetry Yes, it hurts, but it hurts without pain. I don't know what the proper description is. Seems that English doesn't have a word for it. It isn't an ache, that would be pain. It isn't an annoyance, well it is that too but it is sensorially more than just an annoyance. It is a pain that doesn't hurt. Hrm... Just on the edge of pain seems to fit. A sensation that is prominent, can not be ignored on its own but can be ignored when focusing on something else. A discomfort that you avoid aggravating so as not to cause actual pain. Sore, but not actively hurting, only when you move it, poke it, use it. Rough, really rough. That works once you have the context. My throat is really rough. Cloying, sticky discomfort. Raw burning. Just raw. Raw roughness. Raw, sticky roughness. Raw, sticky roughness just on the edge of pain. That is how my throat hurts without hurting.

2021/12/23 #poetry Some people lead very busy lives and don't have time to think about thinking about thinking about thinking. Why do I spend so much time in repose? Noticing the rain, collected, poised, hanging from the leaves, refracting the light, drops glistening. All these moments Considering my lot Will they add up to something? Could I not? I have this time that others don't I use some of it for glorious things that do require solitary concentration But it is too abundant on many days where I have so many moments ready to do things just for you who I don't know

2021/12/22 #poetry So, as the darkness carried away the familiar leaving mystery in its stead I moved as swiftly as I could to get back home to bed The night was coming quickly I never like to rush but I'd been caught up by thing after thing my schedule turned to mush Now my day was over time used as best I could If I could do it over you should certainly bet I would Even so I'm bemoaning that I'm not home ahead of the stars while in daylight it's fine for us humans once it fades the world's definitely not ours

2021/12/20 #poetry The words, to read, with meaning so gripping, written by someone far away in time, what else is there to do but to ignore all other tasks, to dive into the words and thrash your limbs, driving for deeper meaning until you exhaust yourself? Or take it in little pieces, broken up to fill moments of leisure for days and days. Seems like a nice plan until you're stuck deep in its structure, wondering only about the questions it has posed, how its threads tie up again, then you read, and let the world wait, and wrap yourself snugly in its grasp.

2021/12/19 #poetry Despite my joy at the appearance of the sun on this cloudy and expected to be overcast day, despite my desire to be out of the house, to experience the world and to move in an unconfined way, I stay where I am. My thoughts are on the cold. By no means is this close to ice but to me it has that edge. I know that the right clothes will mitigate the chill but that doesn't make it inviting. It makes it loom larger that I must prepare to fend off this specter of discomfort. I also have my excuse of a thousand and one things to do so, going outside, while nice in theory, is not a priority. And yet, considering that going outside would keep me from doing those things, again it entices me.

2021/12/18 #poetry I made it through the day. It's almost time for sleep. I'm not sure I made any memories I want to keep. Things were really tough. The time wore on and on. It wasn't a nice day and I'm really glad it's gone. I may have had a chance to have something nice occur but instead I put it off. The whole thing is a blur. My head feels quite askew. My body's really sore. My ordeals have concluded and I hope there are no more.

Although this is just a rhyme and my day wasn't all that bad, when I read it over I genuinely feel mad.

2021/12/16 #poetry To find a spot so wretchedly comfortable that nothing other than growing roots will suffice. This is a dangerous tendency that we carry. Once you've found a nice little cozy pad, everything outside of it seems impossibly far away. Too cold and harsh to dare to brave. Or too hot and suffocating to bear to encounter. Once your body is perfectly held, as if suspended in air, not a mote of effort expelled, you'll find that you'll have trouble summoning it when you should. Why bother, each muscle cries, the needs of the mind can't compete with the needs of the body, all met and holding on to perfect satisfaction. When this bed, or chair, or grass in the sun is all you feel you've ever known, and it's hard to tell if you remain awake or have drifted into dream, you'll learn to crave this feeling, seeking it again and again, wondering how anything could disturb the perfect harmony of the world you breathe in.

2021/12/14 #poetry As long as you can use the language with zest, your poetry will always be the best.

First you take the bus to the train, then the tram to the aeroplane. Up you go fast and far, then down and one more leg by car. Once you're there you exclaim: 'All this way and I feel the same! Wherever I've gone I'm here and I'm me, none of this movement has helped me just be. No rushing around, not hither nor yon, is taking away the distress I want gone. I feel unease, not much but it's there, and the more I attack it the deeper it spears. Even with everything money can buy. Still underneath even when I get high. I've tried really hard, I've had therapy, but nothing and no one has set my mind free. Meditation is better than not, but can't seem to get me as far as I'd thought. Long walks by the shore, a hike in the trees, only can spare me a moment of ease. I want it now and I want it forever, is this doomed to be a fruitless endeavor?' Fear not my friend, I've been there, I know. Believe me when I say there's more to the show. You can find your peace, you can keep it too. The big secret is that there's nothing to do. As you've plainly found you can't escape you. Your feelings are feelings but the meaning's not true. You made that part up or you learned what was told but the ideas and labels are too much to hold. They pull you apart, as you very well know. These are the things that you have to let go. The story you tell of what the feeling means is what bothers your mind and itches your jeans. It's just a sensation, it moves and it changes. The reaction you have when you feel it ranges. If you go looking for one you'll find it no sweat, the one you imagine is the one that you'll get. Think of a time you were sad and you'll find you can feel it now, it pops up in your mind. So focus on what you are looking for not the thing that you'd rather just be forgot. Reframe that buzzing in your chest, call it excitement instead of unrest. Look where you're heading, not where you've been. There's not much more to it so go on, begin.

2021/12/13 #poetry I do realize that others may be better at some things than I am. Some things that I like to do. I still like to do them. My doing is not the same. Perhaps comparison is not possible. Even if that is the case comparison is inevitable. Reassert that it is not a competition. The urge to seem more capable remains. An argument for why my work is superior constructs itself in my head. Effortlessly. Should the work itself be so easy, it would be a very different game.

2021/12/12 #poetry The cold of the morning is more than I am used to. I've had well insulated and heated accommodations for pretty much my entire life up to now. It isn't anywhere near freezing and I need the warmest clothes I own to feel comfortable. Typing with gloves is not as easy. Something about it though is really enlivening. I think I feel more real, that the true world is touching me through the many barriers of artifice we have erected.