Good things don't come to those who waste their lives waiting
For the sudden suspension of free will
Or the intervention of some kindly deity in a far-off realm
Sometimes good things aren't even that good
And the worst things are the only things worth having
Things in general are variable
"Good things come to those who wait"
Is a thing said by the haves to the have-nots
To minimize their own guilt
Or is it a threat?
That the free will eventually know what it is
To be chained to their desires?
Sunday, December 18, 2016
Be Something for Yourself
Be something for yourself, they say
...When we need people.
We were born this way
NEEDING PEOPLE.
They tame us and encourage us and give us a reason to be
A conversation is worth a thousand meditations
In the ancient misery of the shut-in mind
What would it matter without others?
No scientific theory or bestseller means anything
Without people to take it up in their quiet hours alone
We need to be torn apart sometimes
Remade in the image of progress.
Carved from the stone of our daily expressions.
Nothing is enough for itself.
We are Osiris scattered to the far corners of the Earth
And it is communion that finds us and makes us whole
We are one priceless, divided soul
I'll never be enough for myself.
I'll pine and love and dream and rage
I'll threaten death in silent pain upon the page
But at the end of the day,
It's worth it to be shaken to my core
So long as I've got people to do it for
...When we need people.
We were born this way
NEEDING PEOPLE.
They tame us and encourage us and give us a reason to be
A conversation is worth a thousand meditations
In the ancient misery of the shut-in mind
What would it matter without others?
No scientific theory or bestseller means anything
Without people to take it up in their quiet hours alone
We need to be torn apart sometimes
Remade in the image of progress.
Carved from the stone of our daily expressions.
Nothing is enough for itself.
We are Osiris scattered to the far corners of the Earth
And it is communion that finds us and makes us whole
We are one priceless, divided soul
I'll never be enough for myself.
I'll pine and love and dream and rage
I'll threaten death in silent pain upon the page
But at the end of the day,
It's worth it to be shaken to my core
So long as I've got people to do it for
Tuesday, December 13, 2016
Poetosophy-Thought Constrained by Form
On the Dark Underpinnings of Love
Is love raw passion?
Or learning to tolerate
A good-hearted soul?
Should I feel breathless
Or is it too dangerous
To forfeit control?
Is love just habit
Or is it something profound?
Will I ever know?
What does love look like?
Would I recognize its face?
As friend or as foe?
Does love clip your wings
Is it mesmerizing flight?
Shackles or freedom?
Will I still rejoice
In the dawning of each day?
Have dreams or cede them?
On the Art of Doing
History is the gone, the never reclaimed
The thing that's always whispering in the shadows
The lover you couldn't quite tame, and so
Remember with a smile or a stiff drink
The one that got away
The one that makes you think.
And theory is the fickle future's caress
Dark unknowns become silhouettes
You know how it makes you feel
Alive and undressed and pressed against a wall
You can do something, or nothing at all
But the present is the story, your only real posession
Linear life marching in formation as you look on
Tantalizing words joining one another in tidy little rows
To form scenes and shed light and delight your senses
It's the only fulfillment you've ever known
The embrace at last.
The would-be, has-been lover's a thing of the past
You reflect on what you've had and what you might enjoy...
Until you find yourself alone again
Scotch in hand, by a lacklustre fireside
You lament...but confess, that at least you tried
Is love raw passion?
Or learning to tolerate
A good-hearted soul?
Should I feel breathless
Or is it too dangerous
To forfeit control?
Is love just habit
Or is it something profound?
Will I ever know?
What does love look like?
Would I recognize its face?
As friend or as foe?
Does love clip your wings
Is it mesmerizing flight?
Shackles or freedom?
Will I still rejoice
In the dawning of each day?
Have dreams or cede them?
On the Art of Doing
History is the gone, the never reclaimed
The thing that's always whispering in the shadows
The lover you couldn't quite tame, and so
Remember with a smile or a stiff drink
The one that got away
The one that makes you think.
And theory is the fickle future's caress
Dark unknowns become silhouettes
You know how it makes you feel
Alive and undressed and pressed against a wall
You can do something, or nothing at all
But the present is the story, your only real posession
Linear life marching in formation as you look on
Tantalizing words joining one another in tidy little rows
To form scenes and shed light and delight your senses
It's the only fulfillment you've ever known
The embrace at last.
The would-be, has-been lover's a thing of the past
You reflect on what you've had and what you might enjoy...
Until you find yourself alone again
Scotch in hand, by a lacklustre fireside
You lament...but confess, that at least you tried
Tuesday, December 6, 2016
What am I doing?
Wow, I really suck at keeping this thing up to date! It's December 6th, and tomorrow is a day that will forever live in infamy, but today? Today is a pretty standard Tuesday in all honesty. In 3 weeks and a few days I'll be setting foot in another country on a continent I've never visited. There will be city exploration, beach lounging, glacier climbing, wildlife observing, camping, hiking, hostelling (apparently this isn't an acceptable verb, but it ought to be), and much more besides. I'm also couchsurfing for the first time which simultaneously frightens and excites me.
Two weeks won't be nearly long enough to do everything, and I'll be exhausted by the end, but I will have no regrets. And that's something I can say without even the shadow of a doubt.
it will be a welcome escape.
But what must it feel like to have a life that need not be escaped? I've wondered about that for awhile now. I find joy in each and every day-don't get me wrong. But I often ask myself, "What am I doing?" and I can't really answer that question in any meaningful way. I haven't found the love of my life (or even a consistent lover at that). I haven't had children or started my own business or published a novel or gotten a promotion at work. Instead I'm quitting one job and looking for a replacement for the other. I scribble down ideas that amount to nothing. I engage in my fair share of Facebook philosophizing. I go to parties every once in awhile. I drink a good lot of coffee and wine. I tell jokes and I read my poetry when the compulsion hits and I play with words. I do crosswords and I watch tv shows no one has ever heard of and I binge-read Wikipedia articles on places I may never set foot. I cook and I sleep and I don't spend as much time doing either as I would like. I don't really feel like I've accomplished all that much. And I need to. And I have no idea what the something I'm supposed to do might be, but it needs to be done, and that sense of urgency never really leaves me, if you know what I mean.
I'm a writer in my soul with a seeming inability to impose order on the chaotic stream of consciousness that is my raw material, the granite that I'm supposed to chisel into a Grecian god or something. Or perhaps a cherub. I should really start with a cherub. Those are a dime a dozen, right?
None of this is getting resolved today. I'm going to go explore the interior caverns of a glacier. Maybe something will click inside me and I'll finally know what I have to do. Until then I'm going to try and have a good time.
Two weeks won't be nearly long enough to do everything, and I'll be exhausted by the end, but I will have no regrets. And that's something I can say without even the shadow of a doubt.
it will be a welcome escape.
But what must it feel like to have a life that need not be escaped? I've wondered about that for awhile now. I find joy in each and every day-don't get me wrong. But I often ask myself, "What am I doing?" and I can't really answer that question in any meaningful way. I haven't found the love of my life (or even a consistent lover at that). I haven't had children or started my own business or published a novel or gotten a promotion at work. Instead I'm quitting one job and looking for a replacement for the other. I scribble down ideas that amount to nothing. I engage in my fair share of Facebook philosophizing. I go to parties every once in awhile. I drink a good lot of coffee and wine. I tell jokes and I read my poetry when the compulsion hits and I play with words. I do crosswords and I watch tv shows no one has ever heard of and I binge-read Wikipedia articles on places I may never set foot. I cook and I sleep and I don't spend as much time doing either as I would like. I don't really feel like I've accomplished all that much. And I need to. And I have no idea what the something I'm supposed to do might be, but it needs to be done, and that sense of urgency never really leaves me, if you know what I mean.
I'm a writer in my soul with a seeming inability to impose order on the chaotic stream of consciousness that is my raw material, the granite that I'm supposed to chisel into a Grecian god or something. Or perhaps a cherub. I should really start with a cherub. Those are a dime a dozen, right?
None of this is getting resolved today. I'm going to go explore the interior caverns of a glacier. Maybe something will click inside me and I'll finally know what I have to do. Until then I'm going to try and have a good time.
Monday, October 31, 2016
In the End
There's nothing here for her anymore. Not really. She was always the actress, wise words at the ready, smile, sweet and serene always pasted on her lips. None of it was hers. Not really. Only borrowed, like the coat she's wearing. It's too big now, hanging loosely on her form. How long has it been?
It's hard now, without a script. She's awakened from the role she's been playing and it's an uneasy process. It reminds her of waking up on the cold pavement. There was a bit of snow in the air today. It comes earlier every year.
She is beautiful in a classic sort of way even without the makeup. A bit worse for wear now of course, but who isn't? It's the way of things.
She's the kind of girl who makes you wish the world hadn't moved on quite yet. The kind of girl with all the answers hiding somewhere behind her gaze. If only she could remember them.
She's losing words these days. She's aware of it and talks to herself to try to slow the process. But it only does so much good. And it's horrifying, the sound of her voice on the thin air. Sometimes she's not even sure it's hers. And what do you have if you can't even recognize your own voice? If the words sound like the guttural utterances of some terrible beast?
She dreams of the others sometimes. She knows they're out there. If they didn't exist, then why should she dream of them?
It's hard now, without a script. She's awakened from the role she's been playing and it's an uneasy process. It reminds her of waking up on the cold pavement. There was a bit of snow in the air today. It comes earlier every year.
She is beautiful in a classic sort of way even without the makeup. A bit worse for wear now of course, but who isn't? It's the way of things.
She's the kind of girl who makes you wish the world hadn't moved on quite yet. The kind of girl with all the answers hiding somewhere behind her gaze. If only she could remember them.
She's losing words these days. She's aware of it and talks to herself to try to slow the process. But it only does so much good. And it's horrifying, the sound of her voice on the thin air. Sometimes she's not even sure it's hers. And what do you have if you can't even recognize your own voice? If the words sound like the guttural utterances of some terrible beast?
She dreams of the others sometimes. She knows they're out there. If they didn't exist, then why should she dream of them?
Thursday, October 27, 2016
Adrift
I feel strangely depressed today. I don't have to work this evening...I get to go out and trivia it up with a few friends...why am I feeling this way? It makes no logical sense.
I've "unpacked" my emotions to some extent-I guess in all honesty it's what I do. The way I'm feeling stems from a few things, I think:
1. I don't really feel that I connect with very many people. I talk to a lot of people. I go out on a fairly regular basis. I'm active on Facebook. And yet, I don't have a best friend. A true confidante. I'll probably spend Christmas alone. My family is deceased or in another part of the country...or working. Friends are (understandably) with their families. I lack the closeness with my family that it seems like others enjoy (or take for granted in some instances). I lack the "girlfriends." I've often been thankful that I've never had a relationship that's gotten very serious because I have no idea who I'd ask to be in my wedding.
2. I don't really feel like I'm working toward anything. I will be-there's no doubt about that. I'll be taking a certification course in March that will qualify me to teach English as a foreign language. It was supposed to take place in November though, and that's caused some understandable agitation. I'll have to find something to do with myself in the meantime. I am taking a trip to Argentina. Will that give me something to write about? Will anyone want to read what I write? Should I try to pen a novel during NaNoWriMo instead?
3. I'm clearly not doing what "everyone else does." It's a good thing-of course it is. But it's also a hard thing. I think that's in the fine print. I think they forget to mention that sometimes. When you don't use the same benchmarks to measure success and happiness, when you are forced to develop your own instead....and when the fact that you aren't living up to society's idea of what you ought to be is thrown in your face...well, it's difficult. We'll leave it at that. I'm still figuring out what the trajectory of my life looks like. I don't think it involves long-term employment with any particular company...or perhaps even industry. I think it involves travel. And writing if I have the opportunity. And learning. And just being. That's not being a bum in my eyes. That's being another lifeform on this planet...making the most of the gifts granted me by my species designation.
There. I think I've said what I needed to say. And I think it'll probably be alright in the end. But I definitely feel adrift at the moment.
I've "unpacked" my emotions to some extent-I guess in all honesty it's what I do. The way I'm feeling stems from a few things, I think:
1. I don't really feel that I connect with very many people. I talk to a lot of people. I go out on a fairly regular basis. I'm active on Facebook. And yet, I don't have a best friend. A true confidante. I'll probably spend Christmas alone. My family is deceased or in another part of the country...or working. Friends are (understandably) with their families. I lack the closeness with my family that it seems like others enjoy (or take for granted in some instances). I lack the "girlfriends." I've often been thankful that I've never had a relationship that's gotten very serious because I have no idea who I'd ask to be in my wedding.
2. I don't really feel like I'm working toward anything. I will be-there's no doubt about that. I'll be taking a certification course in March that will qualify me to teach English as a foreign language. It was supposed to take place in November though, and that's caused some understandable agitation. I'll have to find something to do with myself in the meantime. I am taking a trip to Argentina. Will that give me something to write about? Will anyone want to read what I write? Should I try to pen a novel during NaNoWriMo instead?
3. I'm clearly not doing what "everyone else does." It's a good thing-of course it is. But it's also a hard thing. I think that's in the fine print. I think they forget to mention that sometimes. When you don't use the same benchmarks to measure success and happiness, when you are forced to develop your own instead....and when the fact that you aren't living up to society's idea of what you ought to be is thrown in your face...well, it's difficult. We'll leave it at that. I'm still figuring out what the trajectory of my life looks like. I don't think it involves long-term employment with any particular company...or perhaps even industry. I think it involves travel. And writing if I have the opportunity. And learning. And just being. That's not being a bum in my eyes. That's being another lifeform on this planet...making the most of the gifts granted me by my species designation.
There. I think I've said what I needed to say. And I think it'll probably be alright in the end. But I definitely feel adrift at the moment.
Monday, October 17, 2016
The Thrill
Saturday was a momentous day for me-I participated in my first-ever half marathon. I finished in 2 hours and 25 minutes, a very average time for my age group. I'm still a little awestruck. A week ago I was still reeling from three weeks' of serious illness. And I...just...ran...13..miles. There were moments when I thought I might not make it, and there were plenty of times when I had to slow to a walk, but I kept on going. I suppose that declaration sums up my life thus far pretty nicely. I kept on going.
Plans have been made for my winter vacation, which I will spend in Argentina, and it's just another way that I've proved myself to myself. A love of adventure flows pretty freely through my veins. I'm not one to shy away from a challenge. I'm also not one to lose myself in the planning process, I'll admit. I tend to leap and ask questions later (I'd never actually ran a race prior to the half marathon). I've found the flights I'll take and drawn a rough outline of where I'd like to be when (I plan to spend most of my time in Patagonia and it's a big place to traverse in 2 weeks), but I'm going to leave the rest to the fates.
The idea of celebrating New Year's Eve in Buenos Aires thrills me to no end, though. It is one of those things I'm planning, although not in any serious way. Not yet. I'll celebrate in an exotic locale and do my best to mingle with some of the locals, and try out my Spanish at every opportunity, but I don't know where I'll be specifically, and I think a part of me doesn't want to know. Isn't that part of the intrigue? I like to leave a question or two floating about. Will there be tango? Will I find a nice rooftop celebration to partake in? What will I drink? Will I find myself in the midst of a huge crowd? What will I eat? Will I have the pleasure of a midnight kiss? What hopes will I have for 2017?
I smile when I think of it. All of it. The time away. The adventure. The scenery. The character of the place. I am optimistic, excited, my muscles tensing in anticipation, like a runnner at the starting line. I've trained for this in some sense, but the nuances of the event remain a mystery. I think I'm ready, but I'm not. Of course I'm not. But if there's one tool in my arsenal that's served me most through the years, it's my adaptability. I am still filled with the thrill of the hunt. I hope I always am.
Plans have been made for my winter vacation, which I will spend in Argentina, and it's just another way that I've proved myself to myself. A love of adventure flows pretty freely through my veins. I'm not one to shy away from a challenge. I'm also not one to lose myself in the planning process, I'll admit. I tend to leap and ask questions later (I'd never actually ran a race prior to the half marathon). I've found the flights I'll take and drawn a rough outline of where I'd like to be when (I plan to spend most of my time in Patagonia and it's a big place to traverse in 2 weeks), but I'm going to leave the rest to the fates.
The idea of celebrating New Year's Eve in Buenos Aires thrills me to no end, though. It is one of those things I'm planning, although not in any serious way. Not yet. I'll celebrate in an exotic locale and do my best to mingle with some of the locals, and try out my Spanish at every opportunity, but I don't know where I'll be specifically, and I think a part of me doesn't want to know. Isn't that part of the intrigue? I like to leave a question or two floating about. Will there be tango? Will I find a nice rooftop celebration to partake in? What will I drink? Will I find myself in the midst of a huge crowd? What will I eat? Will I have the pleasure of a midnight kiss? What hopes will I have for 2017?
I smile when I think of it. All of it. The time away. The adventure. The scenery. The character of the place. I am optimistic, excited, my muscles tensing in anticipation, like a runnner at the starting line. I've trained for this in some sense, but the nuances of the event remain a mystery. I think I'm ready, but I'm not. Of course I'm not. But if there's one tool in my arsenal that's served me most through the years, it's my adaptability. I am still filled with the thrill of the hunt. I hope I always am.
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