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 )

 

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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 )

 

 

 

Overstressed

Konica12856

 

 

   Lostness    ( 104 )

 

 

Progress came from failure

Given drive to
move ahead without
good looks or lucky breaks.

And when success occurs we
might be chosen as
a mate (which boosted
any hope of spreading genes).

But some, like me, were never
fully in the game.
Once losing health so young
most chances quickly passed.

What made things worse:
an artist’s eye
craved beauties who did not
feel drawn its way.

Picturing those excluding touch
desire exceeded reach.
Such isolated vision found
no point for compromise.

 

I mused about biology.
Then prejudice
fate, karma.

Maybe one could help
dilute the blame?

Perhaps frustration overstressed
relationships?

Can a single human meet our needs?

 

( Would even gods do that?

They seem content to give mankind
the silent treatment, now.

Where evil gains free rein
non-intervention shades toward
abandonment.

Yet still a few who fume
impatiently at
traffic lights slow change
speak unperturbed in waiting out
millennia for
deities.
Minus likely dates of their
return.)

 

 

These days
left here
being ill

I craft reflections
from despond.

Or strive to dredge up
decent lines.

 

While laid

alone

with only
writing.

 

Since
I can’t
quite get

a life.

 

 

 

 

(2011)

 


 

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

Comments are very welcome!

I have been on the point of giving up for many months, due to illness, but your likes and comments make me push on through the pain, each time.

Next weeks post will mark my second blogiversary…

Thank you for reading! )

 


 

( anxiety / art / beauty / depression / drawing / ideas / life / lostness / mental health / poem / poetry / relationships / thoughts )

 

 

 

Posturing

 

Konica128512

 

 

  Lostness    (103)

 

 

It hurt: admitting deep belief
got built upon
some shifting sands
that proved unstable.

But many things were learnt before
skilled reasoning was primed.

 

Illusions may be preferable
compared with harsher truths.

I wondered:
had kind ancestors
less chance of spreading traits
in ancient days when strangers
carried spears or axes?

 

Even now, on darkened streets
if lacking ways to guess
at inner natures
stereotypes alert survival
biased judgements happen fast.

Those who act beyond the norm
surprise more careful minds.

Hostility might swiftly flare
from standing in supposed reproach
to other’s sensed esteem.

 

 

Resentment
being simply stirred
finds politicians seeking votes
by posturing as punishers
for group morality.

Lauding money-saving cuts
they channel latent spite against
the unfit and the sick.

 

Such tactics sparking parody, I wrote:

“Behold!
A righteous call is heard to
“rise up from thy bed
and work.”
Declaring thousands newly well
in single pen-signed
miracles.

Once doubters then spoke cautiously
predicting public backlash
voices countered any qualms
upbraiding:
“Oh, you faint hearts
trust the masses side with us!
These broken ones are quietly despised.
Expect responses satisfied, at
watching shirkers stressed.”

 

So all softness became scorned
replaced by mirth
imagining
the lowly get chastised.”

 

 

Wealth had gentler treatment, though

on seeing how
our state
controls
its rich with
dangled “carrots”

 

while the poor
receive the
stick.

 

 

 

(2011)

 


 

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

Comments are exceedingly welcome!

I have been feeling very low recently, and it’s so nice when someone breaks the silence…

Thank you for reading.)

 


 

( art / beauty / culture / drawing / illness / life / lostness / mental health / philosophy / poem / poetry / politics / thoughts )

 

 

 

Piercing through

 

Konica12456

 

 

Lostness    (102)

 

 

X million sperm had swum for life

and to the quickened one
who won these
years
in light

existence
started with a race
gestated vague survivor guilt.

 

Then thoughts it might be best
to go back
dreaming
snug
inside a scarlet cave.

 

But fear already
sank so deep
this stomach didn’t rest
from turning.

Hearing sudden noises round me
piercing through unshielded walls
pressed all concentration hard
which rendered calmness
something lost

though found by others
(duly envied
in their
peace).

 

 

My body’s now
a futile site
where nature
slowly erodes hope
of chance for sharing
beauty’s grace.

While sensing women formed
the gateway that
will always remain
closed.

And being shamed
I shall not
enter
feeling manly
(let alone become
a father)
since
long illness leaves
me sticking fast
in stasis.

Lately grasping
after somber
themes.

Exploring

just how
truly stuck

I am.

 

 

 

(2011)


 

(Art on the site is mine. I do hope you like it?

Comments are extremely welcome!

Interaction is one of the best parts of blogging.

It’s such a nice break to isolation: hearing if anyone has got something from a post.

Thank you for reading.)

 


 

( anxiety / art / beauty / depression / drawing / life / lostness / love / mental health / painting / poem / poetry / thoughts )

Behind the mask

 

Konica128522

 

 

           Lostness    (101)

 

 

Sexualized offers soon began to arrive
after opening an e-mail address.

Promising male enhancement
firm arousals.
Even dates with eager
women.

I claimed to be a bit disturbed
being targeted these ways…

“How come total strangers know my wishes so well?”

I complained at chess club
in mock anxiety.

Attuned to such deviant banter
guys returned only laughs
not advice.

 

My humour, also, may fall flat…

“You shouldn”t put yourself down!”  Had been a response.

“Why let others have all the fun?” I answered.

Growing up criticised from birth, I found
when later aiming barbs toward myself
internal voices slightly mollified.

 

Identifying as a loser reduced effort, generally.
Achievement tended to involve discomfort.

Shared failures
soothing wounded egos.
Seeing great success can grate
upon defects
comparisons adding irritation.

Fame attracts new tides of gossip
keenly seeking hidden flaws.

 

But then, versus appearance
run desires to strip away
our social roles
uncovering who we “really” are.

 

Though analogy would yet mislead
if beyond such roles
lay increased nullity.

Results thus
less like shedding clothes
than tearing at the skin.

 

Or perhaps I’d just
wrongly imagined
again?

 

Creating
this fear
for removing a mask

that might lift off
some part of
my face.

 

 

 

(2011)

 


 

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

Comments are very welcome!

I always look forward to hearing from visitors.

Thank you for reading.)

 


 

( anxiety / art / beauty / culture / depression / drawing / humour / life / lostness / mental health / poem / poetry / thoughts )

 

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 )

 

 

Zombie or vampire?

Konica1194

 

 

Lostness   (98)

 

 

People often resent what they’re forced to do
so why should the poor love work?

 

Some call on social transformation
yet revolutions rarely
end oppression: merely change oppressors.

Now globalists prefer consumers rootless
differences defanged
as just diverse.
Nothing prompting dying for
or fighting.
Culture in vast fashion statements
varied clothes plus wide food choice.

Once traditions have been undercut
those mourning them may get disdained.

Perhaps reports
on communism’s death
were slightly overdone
since it also served by propping up
our bloated capital?

Old antagonists continue
toxic codependency: where
thesis and antithesis promote
stasis before synthesis.

Still certain rebels find their
opposition shuns contentment.
Dissidence becomes life’s purpose
intolerant at long set ways
and furious for progress.

 

Violence forms a spectacle
while serenity does not.
Hence millions scan the broadcast news
or enjoy combat games.

 

Recently my onscreen view showed
rioters busy looting shops
they dragged away new psychic bonds
as extra TV sets.

Clutching shiny product’s flesh with
addict’s raging neediness.

(Resembling films:
when zombies rush
in mobs
like savage proles
compared to smarter vampire
aristocrats.)

 

Then noticing
alone
among the glass-strewn streets:

a single bookstore
stayed untouched

and only there
might one feel
tempted…

(wisdom’s value transcends cash)

…but

though
peace of mind
could be worth stealing

I doubt
it would
result

from
theft.

 

 

 

(2011)

 


 

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

Comments are very welcome!

My views remain small and it’s always nice to hear from readers.

Thank you for visiting.)

 


 

(art / beauty / books / culture / drawing / lostness / love / mental health / news / poem / poetry / politics / 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 )

 

 

 

Chance wisdom

 

Konica12852

 

 

Lostness   (96)

 

 

Answers may seem diminished
by a taint
of retrospective obviousness.

What I need are fewer facts
yet greater power
to mould emotions
round the known:

a self controlling
my own moods.

Not faking superficial coolness

(useful once
for youth’s bold pose)

to cover ego’s hidden wanting
many people’s fond esteem
as fame
that honours
things achieved.

 

I look across our profit culture
loudly advertising greeds
where vice takes
alibis from virtue
with signs of bright seduction
feigning love.

While speed displaces patience
losing respect for old age
progress breeds swift irritation
at those deemed standing
in its way.

 

Some rushing flees
a darker side
from boredom’s emptiness.

Or noticing
sad memory binds us

(like cold chains
of tight regrets)

through
time’s dimension
shaped by loss.

 

These feelings
active
drove my seeking
after
chance wisdom
in libraries.

(Though my quest
with this topic
soon flopped.)

 

I’ve seen books
on techniques
to remember.

 

But can’t find
one

on how
to forget.

 

 

 


 

(2010)

 


 

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

Comments are very welcome!
My audience is quite small and things get really quiet on here most days, so it’s always nice to hear from people.

Thank you for reading.

I wish everyone a HAPPY NEW YEAR!)

 


 

( art / beauty / books / culture / depression / drawing / lostness / love / mental health / philosophy / poem / poetry / thoughts )