Reactionary moonglade
spill forth your beams
leafy pouts and stored stiff cries
from drunken howl-sore wells
splaying, festive, through
certain tones and pinched off June waters.
Spade a spade and enshrined bones
Sturdying stricken palpatations
Grating, scraps and flaking
Soaring into hell-dreams
Grappling burning ladders
descending, crackling with flames and
overwhelming laughter
All in descent.
All in motionless falling.
Leaping eternally. A cat yowling, and falling apart.
Into brine and bone.
Stuck! Staked!
Turpentine and flailing,
directness in stalking memory.
Violate it, like an indecent dream!
Wide-toothed and lust-soaked grinning,
Raping and pillaging peaceful memory.
As it screams, interfered in prophecy,
cracked in venerable rock and still unworn statues;
spilling forth, what -
notions, mere notions.
Multitudes of mutinied confusions.
Slipping over the observer's perch.
To return to that cliff-rope
that breathed the current of light, dead, dependably futile
breath-stops.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Tentative Muse
It just occurred to me that one is fundamentally unable to react to the fact of existence so one attempts throughout their lives to confess about this most guilty inability through things like "love", "achievement" and so on. What therefore, is sociability, and the great pantheism of this orientation in our acting lives? Why, it is the nice nicotine where the strange sufferingness in the need for an exploration for such a reaction finds its best solution. What do I mean? It submerges the problem of the itch to come to terms with the question of who i am under the wonderful intensity of fellow feeling that means that "not I" can no longer perceive "I", and more importantly, that it is therefore NOT NECESSARY and morally wrong to preach otherwise. So much for the modern institution of sociability - the modern replacement for religion (and very economically efficient too!)
What about achievement? It is again, an effective act of confession in the feeling that one has therefore suffered enough to warrant the indecency of one's allocating oneself the privilege of a description. And of course, crude as it is (beyond pragmatic need - i am speaking of pride here) everyone wants, begs for a description, even though he knows he does not deserve it unless others give it to him, that poor humble idiot, who fights for his dignity.
How terrible indeed to be a thing as well as to be!
Note that i'm talking about institutionalization that remains the post primary driving force that partially structures our understanding of our actions, and their developments into instinct. I am not developing a cynical, bitter theory of single motivations, although, then again, I might be.
Damn, this looks like psychologic dualism!
What about achievement? It is again, an effective act of confession in the feeling that one has therefore suffered enough to warrant the indecency of one's allocating oneself the privilege of a description. And of course, crude as it is (beyond pragmatic need - i am speaking of pride here) everyone wants, begs for a description, even though he knows he does not deserve it unless others give it to him, that poor humble idiot, who fights for his dignity.
How terrible indeed to be a thing as well as to be!
Note that i'm talking about institutionalization that remains the post primary driving force that partially structures our understanding of our actions, and their developments into instinct. I am not developing a cynical, bitter theory of single motivations, although, then again, I might be.
Damn, this looks like psychologic dualism!
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Poorly formed confessions part 1
From the comforts of dressingness
Stay and uncrease.
Savour custard and broken plates
Which find happy reuse
Like locked doors concealing precious
recyclables
i mean accidentally broken glass
which once told past in colour.
Unrelenting shivers from the closets
Closets?
Yes, a couple of broomsticks and mop-heads.
The better romance you can find.
The cleaner, the clearer.
The stare-inducing mirror, which, observe,
elicit happy mute screams of suction power.
Yawness as happiness - my new quote.
Stillness today.
The remainder of nothing new.
Still staring outward in with the blank-guard's eye.
Happy prison, watchful freedom.
Drowning in a carpet of hope
and the dust of the future.
The strange uncrackability of faith.
Like disease, it feeds on the past.
Barrel born history and a seaworthy fool.
Hell-hives. Barnacles. Plaster so stiff its emotion.
Pirates cast themselves into ponds to declare their love of ducks.
Therefore, England,
can, and should, sink.
Stay and uncrease.
Savour custard and broken plates
Which find happy reuse
Like locked doors concealing precious
recyclables
i mean accidentally broken glass
which once told past in colour.
Unrelenting shivers from the closets
Closets?
Yes, a couple of broomsticks and mop-heads.
The better romance you can find.
The cleaner, the clearer.
The stare-inducing mirror, which, observe,
elicit happy mute screams of suction power.
Yawness as happiness - my new quote.
Stillness today.
The remainder of nothing new.
Still staring outward in with the blank-guard's eye.
Happy prison, watchful freedom.
Drowning in a carpet of hope
and the dust of the future.
The strange uncrackability of faith.
Like disease, it feeds on the past.
Barrel born history and a seaworthy fool.
Hell-hives. Barnacles. Plaster so stiff its emotion.
Pirates cast themselves into ponds to declare their love of ducks.
Therefore, England,
can, and should, sink.
Write about an event...
I wrote this as part of a psychology experiment. It asked me to describe a potentially life changing experience in the past three years.
"The experience I will describe is a slightly traumatic one in the sense that it threw me entirely out of my comfort zone and forced me to develop emotional independence. I am speaking of my being conscripted into the army for "national service" in my home country, after my A levels. This was about two and a half years ago and i was due to serve for two years. Certainly many of my peers disliked having their time appropriated from them by the state, but most accepted it grudgingly, presumably because it did not affect their emotional lives too deeply. My dislike for the army life stemmed from two major problems, firstly my need for copious amounts of privacy and 'alone time', and secondly my lack of affinity for the craft of soldiering.
Of course, in an environment where value is placed on specific physical competencies (eg. reflexes) and the ability to establish a camaraderie that facilitates teamwork with anyone and everyone, failure to live up to expectations, or perceived failure to do so, did affect my sense of self-worth and fed back to the habit of asking "what am I doing here?". The complete rupture from an academic environment as a student, - which to be honest, I believe I have grown too comfortable with for my own good - where conformity to an entirely different set of social expectations (eg. attitudes and values of manliness, loyalty to your platoon) made me feel terribly oppressed and disconnected. That is, the army environment not only prevented expression of individuality; it required active effort to display your conformity in terms totally contrary to my inclinations which I found extremely draining. On retrospect, I see that my sense of my disconnect from the environment, and the very unhappy states due to my complete inability to satisfy my emotional needs in relation to that environment, made me project wishes of being a free person as a sort of coping mechanism, which therefore started to elicit a habit of bitter complaining. It was certainly not the activities alone which I resented; some of them are actually remembered with a surprising amount of ambivalence. The issue was more to do with the people involved. For example, during training, being shouted at was common, but when it reaches a certain stage of frequency and intensity, for things like failing to greet your superiors, it becomes extremely exhausting. Essentially, one needs to recover after all this by a good deal of alone time, at least by my book.
Now, this is made really bad by the second problem of the total lack of emotional recovery time, of time when you can feel alone. When you stay in a 12 person bunk of your section mates, it simply means that you have zero time to just feel yourself. Why do I need such time? What does it help me do? Well, it is a form of engaging with yourself, of introspective reflection, and more importantly of feeling your own thoughts, and I require a daily dose of that for emotional health. I guess one can apply the analogy of a lover in love with myself, specifically the reflective part of myself, and without the opportunity to interact emotionally with this part, I will be pretty unhappy, and lonely.
So how did I cope with this? Well, I'm not sure that I did very well. But essentially one just goes through the training stage and then gets sent to the unit. When I got a unit role, i faked a knee injury and was sent to an administrative depot, where could leave after work, similar to an office setup. Things improved greatly after that.
What is the significance of this episode? I believe these stages very much established the mould of my emotional habits and character. That is, I became convinced of my different, and uncommon psychological needs and grew pretty cynical about the ability of others to understand me - which sounds strangely adolescent. Also, I think it was then that I began to conceive of the separation of the private and public me in absolute terms and in terms of effort did really let drop the public image. That is, I became established in the inclination to think that me, my world, matters so much more than all your worlds, and that communitarian world, that strange, interwoven ambitious world, teeming with desperate engagements (drunk in the delight of its own terrible uncertainty), full of absolute assumptions; the real world. I think alot of my adulthood would actually revolve around the development, or else the slow eroding, of these basic assumptive positions in the way I approach my life."
"The experience I will describe is a slightly traumatic one in the sense that it threw me entirely out of my comfort zone and forced me to develop emotional independence. I am speaking of my being conscripted into the army for "national service" in my home country, after my A levels. This was about two and a half years ago and i was due to serve for two years. Certainly many of my peers disliked having their time appropriated from them by the state, but most accepted it grudgingly, presumably because it did not affect their emotional lives too deeply. My dislike for the army life stemmed from two major problems, firstly my need for copious amounts of privacy and 'alone time', and secondly my lack of affinity for the craft of soldiering.
Of course, in an environment where value is placed on specific physical competencies (eg. reflexes) and the ability to establish a camaraderie that facilitates teamwork with anyone and everyone, failure to live up to expectations, or perceived failure to do so, did affect my sense of self-worth and fed back to the habit of asking "what am I doing here?". The complete rupture from an academic environment as a student, - which to be honest, I believe I have grown too comfortable with for my own good - where conformity to an entirely different set of social expectations (eg. attitudes and values of manliness, loyalty to your platoon) made me feel terribly oppressed and disconnected. That is, the army environment not only prevented expression of individuality; it required active effort to display your conformity in terms totally contrary to my inclinations which I found extremely draining. On retrospect, I see that my sense of my disconnect from the environment, and the very unhappy states due to my complete inability to satisfy my emotional needs in relation to that environment, made me project wishes of being a free person as a sort of coping mechanism, which therefore started to elicit a habit of bitter complaining. It was certainly not the activities alone which I resented; some of them are actually remembered with a surprising amount of ambivalence. The issue was more to do with the people involved. For example, during training, being shouted at was common, but when it reaches a certain stage of frequency and intensity, for things like failing to greet your superiors, it becomes extremely exhausting. Essentially, one needs to recover after all this by a good deal of alone time, at least by my book.
Now, this is made really bad by the second problem of the total lack of emotional recovery time, of time when you can feel alone. When you stay in a 12 person bunk of your section mates, it simply means that you have zero time to just feel yourself. Why do I need such time? What does it help me do? Well, it is a form of engaging with yourself, of introspective reflection, and more importantly of feeling your own thoughts, and I require a daily dose of that for emotional health. I guess one can apply the analogy of a lover in love with myself, specifically the reflective part of myself, and without the opportunity to interact emotionally with this part, I will be pretty unhappy, and lonely.
So how did I cope with this? Well, I'm not sure that I did very well. But essentially one just goes through the training stage and then gets sent to the unit. When I got a unit role, i faked a knee injury and was sent to an administrative depot, where could leave after work, similar to an office setup. Things improved greatly after that.
What is the significance of this episode? I believe these stages very much established the mould of my emotional habits and character. That is, I became convinced of my different, and uncommon psychological needs and grew pretty cynical about the ability of others to understand me - which sounds strangely adolescent. Also, I think it was then that I began to conceive of the separation of the private and public me in absolute terms and in terms of effort did really let drop the public image. That is, I became established in the inclination to think that me, my world, matters so much more than all your worlds, and that communitarian world, that strange, interwoven ambitious world, teeming with desperate engagements (drunk in the delight of its own terrible uncertainty), full of absolute assumptions; the real world. I think alot of my adulthood would actually revolve around the development, or else the slow eroding, of these basic assumptive positions in the way I approach my life."
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