Nearer purgatory

 

 

Konica12556

 

 

Lostness   (81)

 

 

Being ill is tough
even in a nice place

but to face decline
surrounded
by a cast of fools
rubs salt on wounds.

And for each “neighbour from hell”
are several nearer purgatory

whose favoured noises enter
unwelcome
through thin walls

evoking basic territoriality

plus
learned helplessness

when we see
the first few times
attempts at change
that use persuasion
getting spurned
since none find their own sound too loud
(or they would have already
turned it down, themselves).

After action makes situations worse
spawning new enemies
stress now spirals round
in restlessness.

 

Proximity requires consideration:
once it’s lost
only clumsy instruments
such as law
remain
aiding sides to embrace victimhood
and justify severity.

People fight over almost anything
(though certain theories view social conflict
in one dimension).

I began to fantasise about
estates for introverts
with residents who prefer
a quiet read.

 

Then
standing up
I note
outside
grey spectrum spread
from clouds to concrete

full urban drab

existence giving hints
at realism:
the world too dull
to be a dream.

 

My gloom ferments
these unlit words

 

why seek more beautiful
expression of
this suffering?

 

I just want to not

be feeling it.

 

 

 

 

(2003-2004)

 

 


 

 

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One-sided love

 

Konica1195

 

 

Lostness   (80)

 

 

Better to think ourselves condemned
by genius

under spirit’s goad

than labelled “waster”

as I negatively judge
my current drifting

too exhausted for creation

seeking partial refuge
in retreat with books

a confined existence
measured via pages read

while more social life
would need the strength
that illness stole.

 

Here
reluctant
being pushed
to recognise
once a body
is no longer fit
for fresh romance
the mind attempts accommodating failure.

 

Yet biology resists
fate’s dismissive verdict

now made even harder after
unexpected
recent meetings
with a woman found adorable

when I sensed old wounds
of learned unworthiness
reopen through my
newly confused heart

default self-loathing
shielded from her power

preserving sterile isolation
against imagined merging
where this small world could be
shattered in assent.

 

How soon the arid
grown familiar
fields its dusty armour at
subversive reciprocity.

 

 

But such speculations
only wove some inflamed dreams

as avoided risk
ensured
fulfillment never came.

Vital words remained unsaid
and masked emotions
kept restrained
to spare our fragile sharing any
awkwardness.

 

So I later
felt sad waves
from missed
one-sided love

diminished
like a fading grief

though nothing had been lost

except
my hope.

 

 

 

 

(2003-2004)

 

 


 

 

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(art/beauty/depression/drawing/lostness/love/mental health/poem/poetry/romance)

 

 

 

 

Disruptive joy

 

Konica1197

 

 

Lostness   (79)

 

 

I watch a couple walking past.

One face wore the sort of controlled blankness
useful around jealous partners.

It triggers memory…

A woman I once dated
who would abruptly ask:
“You like her, don’t you?”
about another female
barely noticed.

My surprise
before pausing to consider
if attraction could ignite
at this specific instance
may not have been the best response
but reflex denial
seemed less honest.

She later left me, after all.

And so has everybody else.

Hence I search reflections
in my lostness
that attempt to conjure sense
amid futility.

 

Yet any cynical defences
might still get swiftly pierced
from kindness.

Perhaps I should even distrust
the slowly setting concrete of depression
when a simple act
could be enough
to undermine constraint
against responsive feeling.

Recently exampled
where
along some sunlit path
the happy child had spun
behind a mother’s back
and shared discreet expression
of its joy with me
as I fought an urge
which drew a hand
to briefly
land my gentlest pat
(unseen by others)
on the little upturned head.

Thus we parted
trailing smiles.

Though mine soon faded
through more musing

formed across such
rare disruption

to this dismal
constant

called
aloneness.

 

 

 

 

(2001/2003)

 

 


 

 

 

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Contrary stance

 

Konica12501

 

 

 

Lostness    (78)

 

 

 

Absence of desire

can be felt as loss
or liberation.

 

Watching advertisements
feeding need for things
which faith was meant to ease.

 

Arts have also craved
a standing beyond
disdained normality

there titles gain allure
before toil begins.

(Hence aspiring authors who may
sooner dream than write.)

Stories ripen
and want telling
lacking value
if unshared.

Cultures laud their fabrication
yet it might be reframed
a skillful form of fidgeting
chosen since we cannot rest content
with simply being.

 

Then I though of works where
an urge to shock
grew tedious

like a drunk set quarrelsome
fixated on the same contrary stance
deflecting any hope
for wider love.

 

 

While others revered
the exotic
holding what is local in contempt
perhaps lured by sensing secrets?

(Recalling those that
post-disaster
turn
to Nostradamus over Camus
fate covering
absurd indecencies of pain.)

 

Now
following assault
through centuries
upon significance
displacing older human-centred views
cold science leaves undimmed
the thirst for fame.

 

Are we
at times unwise
neglecting
drawbacks possible
from raising certain spikes among
some stranger’s envy?

 

Belief has often led to conflict.

 

Even beauty
spurred ugly deeds

once

(driven by obsession)

pure ends

excused indulgence

in a cruelty
of means.

 

 

 

 

(2003)

 

 


 

 

 

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(culture/drawing/life/lostness/mental health/poem/poetry/thoughts/writing)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Potential ecstasy

 

Konica1027

 

 

 

Lostness   (77)

 

 

 

Many grow dissatisfied with partners

yet fewer doubt their choosing skills.

 

I fail beforehand
since unhappy circumstance prevents
my attaining coupledom.

Plus often getting drawn to those
by whom I was disliked

or others
unapproachable
glimpsed crossing city streets
heedless of a stranger’s eye.

Perhaps the most attractive
seeming colder
in case kindness lit
an unjust hope?

 

Beauty making spirits rise

but remembering, also,
such good looks
could render less articulate
certain crucial moments
where my words had wished
to shine.

 

Hence dates resembling interviews
adding unexpected tests
when emotional nakedness felt stark
as sitting nude
while missing a CV

dreading brutal
judgement

or bare indifference
showing plain
full absence from desire.

 

 

Once daydreaming
a far-fetched notion
near conspiracy
occurred
around unspoken female union acting to ensure
this continued isolation.

(Paranoia at least dramatised
the banality
of low status.)

 

 

However
being fairer

women do sometimes talk to me
about their lives

on the understanding
that I’m not
involved in them.

 

Then later
all too soon
they leave
in search of love
and don’t return.

 

Lost like muses
passing beyond sight

 

each one potential
for an ecstasy

which I

shall never know.

 

 

 

 

(2003)

 

 


 

 

 

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(depression/drawing/life/lostness/mental health/poem/poetry/relationships/thoughts)

 

 

 

 

Hidden soundtrack

 

 

Konica1026

 

 

 

Lostness   (76)

 

 

 

Perhaps they had it wrong about Creators?

We might explain life more
picturing deities who
enjoy our suffering.

 

Yet
at libraries
I also browsed the “Spirit” shelf
as if searching after absent recompense
for my inherent maladaptation.

 

Amid thought’s discomfort then
considering an idea:

that one should give up attempted penetration
to instead remain
upon the surfaces of things
in vigilant shallowness.

Turned away from metaphysics
(like old repressions around sex)
struggling toward silence
over words best left unsaid

Avoided through aseptic logic
plus therapeutic strategies

Suspecting any opaque realms
by their obscure interiority

So preferring drawing blank
across such latent soul
or unquiet desire.

 

 

But behind this
later linked

a recollecting
out of childhood

first remembered moral rules
learnt among shouting and abuse
(bound to problems with authority)

A voice which sneered
its covert verdict:

“You can never be punished enough

for the crime
of existing.”

 

 

His harshness lives on inside me
calling primal curses down
introjected before reason
could answer back.

Lodged adjoining endless shame
where hostility had
displaced love.

 

Now I come to no relationship
unscathed.

 

While
beneath these lines

lying

still unheard

 

that hidden soundtrack

of rage

 

and stifled
cries.

 

 

 

 

(2002)

 

 


 

 

 

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(art/books/culture/depression/drawing/lostness/mental health/poem/poetry/thoughts/writing)

Robust stupidity

 

Konica102312

 

 

Lostness   (75)

 

 

Things could get worse

if evolution selects against
ability to understand itself
favouring more robust stupidity.

An existence surrounded by
those safe from thought
fleeing silence
in cocoons of loud distraction.

Where any greatness will be judged
among inferiors.

As a few worship what they cannot comprehend
others instead
reject defensively
when convenient.

(Notice some
becoming rich
decide poverty merits suffering.)

Nobility resenting obligation
further speeds decay.

 

Cultural symbols need endurance
since lasting long enough
acquires veneers of meaning
though these can end up
mouldering once
fixed
like moths
pinned across an old display case.

Reincarnation
minus memory
seems blind.

And absurdity
gains little sense
via simple repetition.

 

Yet ideas tend to rank
before the real.

Where atheists face a void
belief views death
already overthrown.

 

But sceptics
incapable of piety
at times could lazily assume
zealots were only acting out appearances
as they invite all strangers in.

Perhaps strong doctrines
will grow to occupy
open places of escape.

Toleration hopes such groups
self-moderate
trusting extremity
is detachable from faith.

 

 

When intuitions clash
are matters found resolved
through reason
or by force?

 

 

Knowing grievance
so often fuels reprisal

prompts the question
on how many
grasping total power

might then leave no broken
people
in their wake?

 

 

 

(2002)

 

 


 

 

 

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(culture/depression/drawing/life/lostness/mental health/poem/poetry/thoughts/writing)

 

 

 

 

Temples for the lost

 

Konica1025

 

 

Lostness   (74)

 

 

They felt like temples for the lost

 

Those second-hand bookshops
now long gone
toward which I set off
on textual pilgrimage
in hope of serendipity
or hidden wisdom.

 

Usually able to browse alone
apart from occasional fellow
maladjusted specimens.

 

Rarely diverted by the attractive

They were probably busy
living
perhaps even having actual sex?

Something inconceivable in my case
after so many futile years
cast around
through lust’s hormonal puppetry
seeking that non-existent one
who would allow me to love her.

 

Still stuck on biology’s rack
though aching desire made way
for muscle pain
and stabbing kidney stones
growing their cruel
little spines.

 

Reading retains its wonder
yet fails to suffice.

While any shreds of happiness
are side-effects once journeying
not an arrival.

 

Yearning for stamina
to make the art I want to view
and play music
heard internally
thus breaking loose
from illness.

 

Past creative output
unused
weighs upon the mind
as a responsibility
needing work
to satisfy.

Its words left unseen
in cupboards
paper yellowing
with mute reproach at conscience
for such neglect.

 

But self-promotion requires energy,
belief, luck, or friends

Finding none of these
I fret about
my ruined life
here
regretting everything

 

including
the fact
that

 

I regret everything.

 

 

 

 

(2002)

 

 


 

 

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(beauty/blog/books/depression/drawing/loneliness/lostness/mental health/poem/poetry/thoughts)

 

 

Withdrawn empathy

 

 

Konica1024

 

 

 

Lostness   (73)

 

 

 

How to be irreplaceable?

Do what only you can do.

 

 

Indicating I should give up chess for art
yet lack the will.

Perhaps time wasted is more self-sabotage?

While routine keeps chaos at bay.

(Constraint dressed as liberty?)

 

Remembering
during childhood
new items would interest
and excite
but later excess novelties
began to irritate.

 

 

Here my mind switched topic
as it struck me
since becoming sick
I often received unsought advice
containing barely concealed dismissal

finding people reassured
by their withdrawn
empathy

sparked after
my exile from the fit.

 

Possibly reflecting
in a small way
resistance to compassion
outside our chosen groups?

Pointing at a tendency for
ethical selection

constructing varied alibis
over creeping inhumanity:

 

On one extreme
an aristocratic
exceptionalism
(where assumed rank
excused base action).

 

And in politics
some devalue all opponents

until better systems appear worse
because improvements might delay
imagined revolution
(plus revenge).

 

Or unalterable texts
can block reform
focusing
cultural incompatibility

letting intolerance spread
through openness.

 

 

Those who laud
global ideas
may deny tribal forces
moving others.

 

Like any credo wanting to prevail
imposing supposed virtue
stirs reaction

as authorities suppress
expression around
ill feeling.

 

 

Though hate
lives on

 

in silent passions
of the heart.

 

 

 

 

(2001)

 

 


 

 

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(aphorism/depression/drawing/illness/life/lostness/mental health/opinions/poem/poetry/thoughts)

Idol of the book

 

Konica12506

Lostness   (72)

 

 

 

Saying “No” to so much
yet missing a “Yes” in its place

 

yearning for transcendent events
as life stays drearily normal

 

a spectre haunting modernity
is nihilism

unexorcised
by abundance.

 

 

We lack replacement consolations

while old beliefs survive
on more than truth.

 

Tired from logic
religion can traverse
ghettoes of the inexplicable

where hearing: “God told me to do this”
people don’t ask
how one knew that was him

or beings get defined as existing
in teaching set
against critique.

 

Now
assuming
superior entities
would feel
any need to create

should flaws be excused
such designers

depicted greying with age

when images of a playful child
may fit the role instead?

 

Idolatries
of the book
can occur

certain infallible words
preserving ossified hate
still able to damage

there
though killing transgresses most doctrines
a few might be sought it fulfils.

 

 

Our reaching an end
justifying

leaves only bias
plus faith.

 

 

Meanwhile

sidelined

I persist:

agnostic in intellect
atheist at heart
but usually seeking
escape

from reason’s empty hallway
past humid bathrooms
of metaphysics.

 

Dreaming toward closure

lured around libraries

stacked titles
gleaming
before me

already suggesting
anew

untrodden paths
for
wandering

among
these printed
forests.

 

 

 

 

(2001)

 

 


 

 

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