it’s one of those cities where you come in feeling fresh and hopeful, but leave feeling hardened and aged. you lose track of time and ignore everything else that’s going on in the world. like rip van winkle, you emerge wondering where your life has gone.
Politics mixed with pop rhetoric.
Cheap parlor tricks to control the government.
Rights being redacted while we’re being distracted.
The state of the union’s atrocious
but, “Can you believe she sang the wrong lyrics?”
We demand justice but expect the opposite.
“I’m actually not surprised he got away with it.”
We want to raise the issues
but discuss the trivial.
“That dress she wore last night was simply abysmal.”
It’s so pitiful.
You look that way while they pull the wool over you.
Progress falls off slippery slope arguments.
“First it’s the homosexuals, next it’ll be house pets.”
Adding fuel to the celebrity fire.
“Kim’s got no talent, but I’d give anything to look like her.”
It’s hard to give when no one has enough.
“I’m sure some one else will give their seat up.”
Doesn’t take an anarchist to see what’s happened.
Complacent ignorance runs rampant.
Blind antics in lieu of sound tactics.
Maybe someday there’ll be more passion.
two years ago, i was experiencing some major writer’s block. let’s accept it as a real thing for the sake of my post, whether or not you believe in it.
it wasn’t so much that i couldn’t write anything. i did. but it all felt so forced. and nothing felt meaningful. in short, i wasn’t proud of what i was producing.
which as you can imagine led to a drought of sorts. not that many people noticed since i rarely share my work. and publishing? haha let’s be real.
so last year, i spent the entire time just keeping a private journal and an open canvas, among other docs, on this writing app i use on my phone (no plug, unless you’re really interested). nothing too concrete. just jotted down thoughts in my journal and random lines for potential poems whenever things came to mind. which actually makes having a writing app on your phone really convenient, especially when you’re on the go.
so in any case, i compiled all this raw material for a year. and this month, i spent a lot of time copying and pasting, stringing together lines, adding lines, editing to put together five new poems for a poetry retreat application. the retreat is run by Kundiman and i’ve been trying to get in for the past few years (minus last), so i didn’t wanna send repeats or even any old work.
so it felt good just to put together some pieces that i actually am proud of. i found that i returned to using more rhyme in these new pieces. return to my roots. because let’s face it, don’t we all start off with rhymed couplets / sappy love poems?
and for fun, i included the first poem that i wrote seriously. and by seriously i mean it was the first poem i wrote after i made a declaration that i wanted to be a poet back in college. it’s not bad actually. oh well. we’ll see how it goes.
anyway, point is, sometimes it’s good just to gather raw material and worry about editing and producing final pieces in the future. what i mean is, hoard your writing.
was a slogan i came up with a couple years back because i thought it was funny when people would say things like, “actually, i’m very serious in my real life.” so i switched the adjectives around to make it interesting. but of course it just led to confusion and people saying, “as opposed to being fake?” which works if you think about it. some people are fake, serious life or not.
but i think it can work with any other adjective. i.e. “im very real in my laidback life.” or “i’m very real in my shy life.” oh well, i eventually ditched it.
So in the play Cymbeline, right, when Iachimo is all like, “hey, dude, i know you just met me and all, but i bet i can seduce your wife and make her cheat on you with me,” Posthumus takes that bet?! wtf?
and then when Iachimo comes back with Imogen’s bracelet and describes her bedroom and the mole on her breast, that’s enough proof?? madness.
i would have automatically assumed he stole the bracelet and peeped at her when she was naked in her bedroom. which he did! creep.
but i guess pre-audio/video recording and DNA, this was all you had. not unless there were like eyewitnesses of course. but then again, Iachimo could have easily paid off some extras to corroborate his story.
which brings me back to my original question, why take this bet at all? Pothumus the fool.
“Atticus said to Jem one day, ‘I’d rather you shot at tin cans in the back yard, but I know you’ll go after the birds. Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit ‘em, but remember it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.’”
why the bluejay hate?
So took me a while to find hosting, but I just went with this awesome deal that netfirms was having. In any case, I’m back and ready to make something happen. Just gotta figure out what to do…