One last poem. "Regular" blog post coming very soon, I promise.
Happy
-----------
couldnt sleep last night
i dont know why -
or, i do i just would
have thought contentment
would bring sister
sleep with it, or
at the very least
restfulness.
ha, in my hands
hope does more damage than
even despair.
now even the sleep is
wrung out of me,
taking the familiar lonely,
shaking the soft conviction of
sadness that says
"there is a greater end to life
than to be happy"
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Poetry Update
10 days between posts is longer than I expected. Well, I'm busy, and I'm new to this whole blog thing, I guess. Regardless, this is going to be a pretty brief post - I'm just going to share a few poems I wrote today during Theo class (Don't judge me until you've sat through one of Fr. Roch's theo classes).
They're both as of this moment untitled. Live with it.
1
---
coming to see only now
the gap between what i know &
who i think i am - to say
you're not fucking socrates
its ironic, even socrates knew he
did not know - or especially socrates i guess
but me i dont i just want
to stare out a window &
pretend life is like a movie -
that i already know the plot and
am just waiting for the credits to roll.
2
---
In the pub. It's five o'clock,
and it was five o'clock yesterday
around the same time, when he
was in the pub. He wonders if
these thoughts constitute him as drunk,
looks at his warm beer. not yet,
raises the glass to his lips. Five
kilometers down the road is the house.
Silent road silent house. She's not
warming up the last night's lasagna,
not even picking wild gooseberries in the side garden.
They're both as of this moment untitled. Live with it.
1
---
coming to see only now
the gap between what i know &
who i think i am - to say
you're not fucking socrates
its ironic, even socrates knew he
did not know - or especially socrates i guess
but me i dont i just want
to stare out a window &
pretend life is like a movie -
that i already know the plot and
am just waiting for the credits to roll.
2
---
In the pub. It's five o'clock,
and it was five o'clock yesterday
around the same time, when he
was in the pub. He wonders if
these thoughts constitute him as drunk,
looks at his warm beer. not yet,
raises the glass to his lips. Five
kilometers down the road is the house.
Silent road silent house. She's not
warming up the last night's lasagna,
not even picking wild gooseberries in the side garden.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Mirror, Mirror
Has this happened before to anyone else?
A few minutes ago, I was clicking through my facebook photographs due to a mixture of narcissism and the need to find a profile picture for the google-whatever account I had had to set up to create this blog.
While I was doing this the weirdest thing happened. When one photo popped up, I didn't recognize myself. And it wasn't like the photo was from seven years ago or my hair was dyed blue or something and I was thinking about how different I used to look. No, I looked exactly like me, I just saw myself as a stranger: I absentmindedly wondered what I was like to be around, what my deepest thoughts and desires were, whether I would like me if I knew me. It was like I had walked in on my self-image undressing or something.
The very same thing has happened with longtime friends as they've grown older; looking at them, suddenly their faces break the mold of the familiar, and I glimpse for a moment not who I think they are, but what they really look like. It makes me wonder how much I really know them, to what extent I've mentally categorized, simplified their being down to a few idiosyncrasies and a certain manner of speaking.
How much of the world that we live in is the expected, the habitual, pasting itself over the real, the actual? Apparently, there's a good chance that we don't even see true colors anymore. These moments of clairvoyance, in which we are permitted to see ourselves and others without the subconscious filter of our own opinions and expectations, don't come nearly often enough.
A few minutes ago, I was clicking through my facebook photographs due to a mixture of narcissism and the need to find a profile picture for the google-whatever account I had had to set up to create this blog.
While I was doing this the weirdest thing happened. When one photo popped up, I didn't recognize myself. And it wasn't like the photo was from seven years ago or my hair was dyed blue or something and I was thinking about how different I used to look. No, I looked exactly like me, I just saw myself as a stranger: I absentmindedly wondered what I was like to be around, what my deepest thoughts and desires were, whether I would like me if I knew me. It was like I had walked in on my self-image undressing or something.
The very same thing has happened with longtime friends as they've grown older; looking at them, suddenly their faces break the mold of the familiar, and I glimpse for a moment not who I think they are, but what they really look like. It makes me wonder how much I really know them, to what extent I've mentally categorized, simplified their being down to a few idiosyncrasies and a certain manner of speaking.
How much of the world that we live in is the expected, the habitual, pasting itself over the real, the actual? Apparently, there's a good chance that we don't even see true colors anymore. These moments of clairvoyance, in which we are permitted to see ourselves and others without the subconscious filter of our own opinions and expectations, don't come nearly often enough.
Friday, February 4, 2011
No.1
Hello everyone.
So, apparently, having a blog is kind of the shit. Correct me if I'm wrong here. At the very least, it seems one of every two of my friends has a sports blog or a quiet musings blog or a realtime autobiography blog they link to on facebook.
And you know what? For the most part, they aren't all that bad. There are a few that are even good.
-- Please don't get the wrong impression from the way I said that. I'm not really an asshole. I'm more of an eternally surprised cynic. If you don't see what I mean, I'm sure you will as I post more.
But no, I'm starting a blog because I've seen it done well, because some of my friends write blogs that I do more than read out of friendship. You know what I mean. I'm writing this blog in the hopes that what I say will be just as interesting to even a single person.
The cynic in me thinks that what I have to say isn't really that interesting, and that I'll post about four times and quit.
I'm open to surprises.
So, apparently, having a blog is kind of the shit. Correct me if I'm wrong here. At the very least, it seems one of every two of my friends has a sports blog or a quiet musings blog or a realtime autobiography blog they link to on facebook.
And you know what? For the most part, they aren't all that bad. There are a few that are even good.
-- Please don't get the wrong impression from the way I said that. I'm not really an asshole. I'm more of an eternally surprised cynic. If you don't see what I mean, I'm sure you will as I post more.
But no, I'm starting a blog because I've seen it done well, because some of my friends write blogs that I do more than read out of friendship. You know what I mean. I'm writing this blog in the hopes that what I say will be just as interesting to even a single person.
The cynic in me thinks that what I have to say isn't really that interesting, and that I'll post about four times and quit.
I'm open to surprises.
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