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I tried to do a painting of my daughter yesterday - I feel I need to use a new, more expressive, less realistic approach.
Old thoughts to stimulate new ones, I hope
my thoughts on writing inspired by t.s. eliot
November 2, 2003
In my room the thoughts come and go,
and i wonder can i capture all i feel.
This restless, restlessness that word-rushes me onward
from thought to thought and word to word.
Can words take me where i want to go
or is this sense of levitation only slight of hand,
A false sense of revelation in a world too busy
and pragmatic to listen to me screaming,
chanting, whispering, whimpering my truths
in the silence…..?
Am i scrawling my scribbles and scratching my notes
in a mad scramble to record
what cannot be recorded?
Is there sense in my nonsense?
Are these sleepless word ramblings
Just therapy for a restless brain?
Or – is there truth in us if we
are strong enough to lay bare the word flow that
bleeds from our hearts.
Alas, but who is listening, reading, listening
to the truths that fall like flakes of snow on warm skin.
They smart for barely an instant and are
liquefied, evaporated, vaporized, etherized.
¬Is it really true that
humankind cannot bare too much reality?
i cannot bear to contemplate.
So i am
compelled to scribble and scratch as long as this
heart bleeds words that must be.
O.K., so I am a bit of a TSE fan - I promise I will move on from him tomorrow.
K
In the disjointed world in which I live, there are few constants.
The baby screams with laughter while the old man screams childish outrage.
I feel as though I am the still point in a life running on fast forward.
I find myself on this e n d l e s s treadmill of appointments, activities and filled agendas that seem to lead to nowhere.
The only thing that is constant is that one’s thoughts will not leave a trace in the pattern of the day.
Normally one is impervious to ideas; they come and go, are accepted and rejected, put on like shirts, taken off like dirty socks
and the beat goes on
pounding a rhythm to the brain.
La de da de dee, la de da de da.
The days carry on like the hum of background conversations, fragments of hit songs and worn platitudes:
Nothin’ but blue skies and then into everyone’s life a little rain must fall.
Don’t worry; it all passes.
But, what happens when the treadmill s t o p s, and we step off to find that we have lost hours, days, months, years! It is said that mankind cannot bear too much reality. Well I’m ready to step off. Are you?
(Soundtrack for this entry is below)
Recent Comments
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Rain.man said:
Don't you sometimes wonder if you had the time to sit with the people on that train and talk ,... read more
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This is certainly true nameless. We pass a richness of humanity every time we step into a subway and never... read more
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