Anal textuality

 

scan 7

 

 

 Scree       (Part 2)

 

 

Message from agent Bubo

 

Like some beautiful marble face encased by muck
history can also be favourably cleansed, dear friends!

(While, with the excellent results of God’s mysterious love
our opponents shall appear deservedly languishing in slime.)

Let us promote an end to psychic hierarchy and unpleasantness.

What joy!

 

Indeed, we should find life energy-possessed.

Yet certain people still write about “infinite exhaustion”.

Alas! The toxic union which links sensitivity and depression has even engendered a reluctance to breed (producing more suffering).

Yes! Philosophical infections persist.
Among victims, doubt knots its unsettling intimations through their very bowels:
insidious as a tapeworm!

Thus, noticing how things decay (becoming fodder for plants, plus tiny repulsive organisms), these types dwell anxiously upon death.
Because they are without faith in soul’s renewal:
when signs release transcendent meaning.
Undestroyed by halted blood.

 

Rest assured, all your activities have a function.
Remember that discussing fallibility could form another nexus for weakness
or anal textuality.

If stressed, simply contact a nearby security centre, using the code, “Twinkle, twinkle, little star”.

 

Always remain confident over our collective power.
Repeat its positive mottos.

Just ignore any diabolic shapes
briefly sensed pulsing

in darkness.

 

 

 


 

 

Feedback recieved.

1 recent item.
(Unapproved)

 

 

Mottos ? Oh yeah,

“From each according to his stupidity.
To each according to his greed.”

Ha ha!

 

Until next time,

Limbo dancer.

 

 


 

(1972)

 


 

(This is part 2 of “Scree”, which I wrote at age 16.

Though basically prose, a few poetic elements crept in.

Art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it?

Comments are always welcome!

Thank you for reading.)

 


 

( anxiety / art / blog / depression / fiction / humor / humour / mental health / poetry / politics / reading / thoughts / writing )

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Scree

 

 

Konica1250

Part 1

 

 

Anal traits.

 

Alert all agents!

Field report from narcosis section (filed under code: “Degenerate”)
recently found on data channel, at a vacant location.

Text appears subversive in spirit, beginning:

“Great deal, man! Fifty pounds of uncut.
We need drugs for a life lacking poetry.”

 

It continues:

“An avalanche of impressions doesn’t constitute a self.
While metaphysics has grown tiresome.
Let us curse anal traits, distorting minds,
setting traps for normal eyes.
Keep vision running, yet, along much other lines…

Endless bumholes tunnel space.”

 

(Suggest “wormholes” in previous sentence?)

 

“Time could see the whole operation go asswards.
Just take a shot.
Feel heat cross flesh.
Imagine obscene structures collapsing
amid a gush of verbs.”

 


 

 

Official response

Thus far we have difficulty tracing or explaining this message.
No agents are manifesting observable pathologies.

Please maintain healthy and appropriate conduct.

Glory to the eternal cause!

Your obedient servant,

Agent O.

 


 

 

Feedback   ( 4 items, received)

 

1)  Dear friends,

Our department intends healing all deviance, once given total access to psychic residues.

Pay full attention!

 

2) I’ve paid attention!

 

3) May only approved words, throughout
the breathless void, be heard!

 

4)  Amen!

 


 


 

 

This is the first of my prose, dated 1972.

Reflecting tensions between order and freedom.
Using experimental writing, surrealism, wordplay, humour, poetry.

I was 16 years old then, with no prospects.
Poor, jobless, lonely, friendless, alienated.

 

(My situation is similar today: with added disadvantages from age and chronic illness.)

 

 


 

( Art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it.

Comments are very welcome!

Thank you for reading.)

 


 

( anxiety / art / blog / blogging / drawing / fiction / humor / humour / lostness / mental health / poetry / thoughts / writing )

 

Dreaming words

scan 8

 

 

After wishing verse would

emerge
again

thrown whole
by a pen-nibs edge
with ease.

Alight in mind
like shapes
which were somehow
seen if
I closed my eyes
before they had
been drawn.

When this hand felt
guided on
during artwork
once.

Yet I soon mislaid
any gift
then veered so far
beyond its path

found
blocked from
all return.

 

(But
never did forget
the loss.)

 

 

Only signs
(no colours)
lead me now.

Across more barren
years I search for
them
impatiently.

Though trying  just
at trusting
maybe through
the haze might
come a few that
stay here
long enough

while
my ink still
flows.

 

Until
such point
one can merely
wait

and hope
not count upon

those
dreaming
words

(unbidden)

to
arrive.

 

 

 

 

(2017)

 


 

In “The strange magic of blogging” I wrote about how my daily notes ( “Lostness” ) kept morphing: poetising themselves, during the editing process.

But above is the first verse to arise spontaneously for 13 years.
It may not be my best, yet at least I can now “come out”
as no longer (quite) an “ex poet”?

Thus, unexpectedly, WordPress brought me back to poetry, after all.

 


 

( Art on the blog is mine. I hope you like it.

Comments are very welcome!

Thank you for reading.)

 


 

( anxiety / art / beauty / blog / blogging / depression / life / lostness / mental health / poem / poetry / thoughts / writing )

 

 

Fun with Comments!

 

scan 3

 

 

                Lostness   ( 107 )

 

 

Have you ever found comments more enjoyable than a text?

Or been drawn by the threads below news website articles?

 

Lacking any previous online voice, I opened a reader account in 2012.
Reacting around current events, and seeing my responses appear in public for the first time, seemed quite exciting.

Though many people’s debating skills hardly rose above playground levels
(fast communication allowed expression ahead of sober consideration)
there was fun to be had!

Especially under pieces which were fairly lightweight.

 


 

 

Here are a few examples of mine, from those days, with their related topics in brackets.

 

( Please note: these tongue-in-cheek remarks should not be taken seriously!)

 

1) ( Weekend “zombie walks”)

“I wouldn’t be seen dead looking like that!”

 

2) ( Complaints over paganism being taught at school)

“Perhaps certain sacrifices may be required, in the cause of inclusion?”

 

3) ( On the spread of veganism)  “Resistance is fruitile!”

 

4) ( Embarrassment when gay porn got accidentally shown behind a newscaster)

“Nice to watch him bend over backwards to apologise!”

 

5) ( The theory dinosaur flatulence contributed to climate change)

“This sounds like a lot of hot air!”

 

6) ( Discussing female sexuality)

“I thought the quickest way to arouse a woman was telling her there’s a shoe sale on?”

 


 

 

But comment threads soon sank into digital obscurity.

So, fearing frivolous new interests leading me astray
while all my past creative work lay neglected and unseen,
I gave up such commenting.

A severe health crisis during 2014-2015 increased my sense of urgency to finally publish something.

Yet it took until 2017 before I felt able to commence blogging.

(And, 2 years later, I’m still struggling.)

 

 

Now, however, I would advise anyone unsure about getting started:

Don’t be hesitant, like me,
or you might also regret
delaying your experience of WordPress!”

 

 

 

 


 

( Art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it?

Comments are very welcome!

Thank you for reading. )

 


 

( art / blog / blogging / fun / humor / humour / life / lostness / mental health / news / reading / thoughts / writing )

 

This captive mind

scan 9

Lostness    ( 106 )

 

 

Back at the doctor’s waiting room, again.

Below its clock’s slow tick
this captive mind starts
wandering.

 

As
an essay title
pops into my head:
“The control delusion”

(on how little power
we really have).

 

And being straightaway
distracted
by one open magazine
discussing female
tribal menstrual synchrony.

“Did their men then go off hunting?”
quips an inner comic voice.
( He undermines all tact
hence best I let the topic drop.)

Another page exclaimed:
“religious symbols banned!”

(I’d rather be prewarned
about who’d want me sent
to hell.)

 

 

Next my mental jaunt
asked
whether excess information
might cause some
feeling faintly jaded
when around the fully known?

 

Or if beliefs which shed humility
should thus appear less credible.
Though dogma seeks submission
from our soul.

(And doctrines often act ungenerous
post-victory: suppressing
even grief among
opponents overthrown.)

Perhaps a rigid faith demands
acceptance too extreme?

 

 

Then these thoughts switched onto
“Dragon slaying”
as a metaphor of
anxious fights against
the ancient “reptile” brain that
generated automatic stress…

 

 

But suddenly
she calls my name
(long past appointment time).

 

Soon I step inside
the door and
pause there

standing quite
subdued to
face

her smile’s
lit eyes:

 

a new GP
so
beautiful

I struggle with
remembering

what

it was

I came
here for.

 

 

 

( 2012 )


 

( Art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it?

Comments are very welcome!

Thank you all for reading.)

 


 

( anxiety / art / beauty / blog / blogging / culture / depression / life / lostness / mental health / poem / poetry / thoughts )

 

 

The strange magic of blogging

Konica10239

 

 

Second blogiversary!

 

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

Could blogging create such side-effects?

Had the Muse rejected a premature goodbye?

 

During May 2017 I published a “last poem” (dated 2004):
having been unable to compose any for 13 years.

Next I began posting old daily notes ( “Lostness”) in weekly instalments.

 

Unexpectedly, these disconnected fragments started morphing:
poeticising themselves.
Which felt rather strange, at first.

I assumed this would be temporary. But it kept occurring.

Hence the blog has become mainly poetry.
(I’ve even written some new stuff.)

 

As “Lostness” now reaches 2012, I worry that the approaching transition to uploading prose might reduce an already small audience.

 

There are also regrets, over not connecting more with others on WordPress.

Yet, being affected by quite severe levels of illness, just grinding out a post takes several days, leaving me very drained.
Thus, at present, staying focussed on working through an unedited backlog ( 7 years’ notes; 46 years’ prose; plus one unfinished novel) retains priority.

 

The greatest single success on this site so far is owed to a spontaneous act of kindness from the lovely Sara (of “Sara in LaLaLand”) who shared  “Help! It’s my Birthday…” (June 2018) with her many followers.

Unfortunately views have declined since then.  And no-one has been inspired to reblog another piece.

 

 

Though continual health problems stir thoughts of giving up blogging,
people’s likes and comments encourage my pushing on, despite the pain, each week.

 

 

Finally,

here’s a photo of me from happier times:

 

 

 

 

scan 18

 

 

Thank you all for reading!

 

 


 

( Art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it?

Comments are always welcome!

I’m extremely isolated, so hearing from others makes a real difference to my day.)

 


 

( anxiety / art / blog / depression / drawing / illness / life / lostness / mental health / poem / poetry / thoughts / writing )

 

 

 

Prideful spirit

 

konica124971.jpg

 

 

Lostness   (99)

 

 

I search across the lighted page…

This portal made for mass distraction
holds me in its net.

More interesting than my time offline
here bearing social emptiness.

Languishing alone
unseen.
These many years beyond
all human care
or touch.

And being ill
enduring pain
our mind can start to thirst
for greater agency
chafing amid helplessness
under ruthless viral force.

 

Remembering
I met a few who chose
assertive faiths

which conjured up a
self-projected world
where things seemed props
around their stage
as animated nature
somehow
manifested will.

Such prideful spirit
set against soft pity
weakness, limits: could
then lead to blaming
patients for disease.

(Rationing our sympathy lets
conscience free, conveniently.
Recalling one I heard
excuse compassion’s loss
when that shrinking quality, in him,
appeared
already quite worn out
before it had been used.)

 

Just presume we did attain
a vision clear from
comforting delusion’s balm:
need this leave us much
except an uninspiring truth?

 

 

Confessing, though

(while knowing none might die
with inbox vacant)

I still aspired to closure
after realising
any life
including mine

should likely
stay
unfinished

even

as it
ends.

 

 

 

(2011)

 


 

(Art on the blog is by me: I hope you like it?

Comments are very welcome!

Have a virus which is thickening brain-fog.
Unsure if my writing works due to disorientation effects: making me slightly word-blind.

I’m finding it difficult to carry on blogging due to illness. Views are down; follows almost stagnant, sharing non-existent.
Feeling at a low ebb. Don’t know how to turn things around. Could anyone help?

Thank you for reading.)

 


(art / beauty / blog / culture / depression / drawing / illness / life / lostness / mental health / poem / poetry / thoughts )

 

 

Woven shame

 

Konica10233

 

 

Lostness   (97)

 

 

How to love yourself?
Begin to feel worthy.

How to feel worthy?
Begin to love yourself.

 

I never fully opened up that loop…

But also knew
opinions
hid assumptions
ripe for questioning.
While firm views preferred no
undermining queries
over truth.

 

I mused:
computers, given will,
could be as hard to command
as cats?

Might gods escape all explanations
rather than supply them?

 

Did reason set the model wrong:
if few broke laws expecting Court
when impulse
undeterred by caution
raced along a reckless course?

 

However tough existence gets
some still affirm
so faith persists.

Though those like me found
any hunger
to believe
exceeded our capacity.

 

With modern comforts
misery sees less excuse
but stress churns on
in inner states of
spirit’s house arrest:

Where loneliness joins
dreading death and guilt
before my ancestors
(who preserved
their family line).

Unable to regain good health
or vital masculinity
the body I seem trapped inside
caged deeply woven shame.

 

Tired at pain, I turn
then gaze
toward that
black-framed pool
of silvered glass

As, once again,
this mirror
holds me captive…

Compelled yet
not attracted
by

the face

reflecting
there.

 

 

 


 

(2011)

 


 

(Any art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it.

Comments are very welcome!

My audience remains quite small, and it’s always nice to hear from readers.

Thank you for visiting!)

 


( art / beauty / blog / depression / drawing / faith / life / lostness / love / mental health / poem / poetry / thoughts )

 

 

 

Quiet force

 

Konica102314

 

 

Lostness   (88)

 

 

Beliefs are like a gravity
which shapes our thinking space.

 

Once taught a thing was moral
one felt better doing it.

So is habit truly ethical
or good taste just preferred bias?

 

Suppose ideas could rank along
a gradient of credulity
according to extreme content
and how much theory each require.

Atheists should have few demands
for doctrine
taking lives to be as
mundane as they seem.

 

While an attribution spiral
might account for certain myths
where nature’s motions
given agency
were reified with spirit.

 

Later, lauding openness
hints at virtue
in naivety.

Suggestions all
“create their own reality”: perhaps abused
by those who seek
to dull the pain
compassion spikes
observing others suffering.

Dismissal shields a
greater guilt

(hence some
scorning “love’s illusion”
on exclusion from such realms).

 

Truths abandoned
soon clear ways for
more self-serving
types of faith.

Though still our
charitable lies
maintain the gift
to blunt a crueller
honesty.

 

 

But

these thoughts got interrupted

as a slight
yet fragrant breeze
through my open window
blew
new smells
resembling freshly laundered
air.

 

 

And thus I caught
its first faint sign

 

that quiet force

 

of spring.

 

 

 

(2006)

 

 


 

 

(Any art on the blog is mine. I hope you like it.
Comments are very welcome!)

 

 


 

(art/ beauty/ blog/ drawing/ faith/ ideas/ lostness/ love/ mental health/ poem/ poetry/ thoughts/ truth)

Ghost life

 

Konica10235

 

 

 

Lostness   (82)

 

 

Can we have nostalgia for the present

 

detecting loss within these moments
even
while they’re here?

 

Once sadness brews a
dread of time

Recalling how
youth hoped
good things would happen…

Now adulthood fears they won’t
and
if old age is reached
it may regret
so much
one never did.

 

Yet should I
beware
assuming consequents
when Y does not truly follow X?

(Like those promiscuous
analogies
my verbal hunger
often fed.)

Why expect coherence after
long surveys of thought
unless mind
or self
are unities?

Perhaps such systems
only understand
a level
formed less complex

hence the brain which fails
to grasp full knowledge
of its works.

Below awareness
nature needing boundaries

that guard innate from alien

forcing vital duty on a fast
immune response.

 

Again
arising to more conscious states

identity
must fend off chaos

though strong will resents
any limit
but its own.

 

 

As subjects
childhood put us at
the centre of our world

until we saw all others
disagreed.

 

A blow extended later
by rejections

ending
with this sense:

society excludes me

since, alone,
unnoticed
year on year
I pass just strangers

as some ghost might
wander

in an
outcast silence

through

the living.

 

 

 

 

(2003-2004)

 

 


 

 

(Art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it.
Comments are very welcome!
Thank you for reading.)

 

 


 

 

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