Potential ecstasy






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
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

or bare indifference
showing plain
full absence from desire.



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

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



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.











(Art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it. / Comments welcome!)




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






Hidden soundtrack







Lostness   (76)




Perhaps they had it wrong about Creators?

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


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


beneath these lines


still unheard


that hidden soundtrack

of rage


and stifled











(Art on the blog is mine. I hope you like it. Comments are welcome.)







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

Robust stupidity





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
like moths
pinned across an old display case.

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
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
in their wake?










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






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





Temples for the lost





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
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
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
regretting everything


the fact


I regret everything.










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





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



Withdrawn empathy







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?)


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

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
(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
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.










(I try to blog each Sunday. Comments welcome.)





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

Idol of the book



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

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.


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?


of the book
can occur

certain infallible words
preserving ossified hate
still able to damage

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



Our reaching an end

leaves only bias
plus faith.





I persist:

agnostic in intellect
atheist at heart
but usually seeking

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


Dreaming toward closure

lured around libraries

stacked titles
before me

already suggesting

untrodden paths

these printed










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

(I try to post each Sunday.)





(beauty/books/drawing/life/lostness/mental health/opinions/poem/poetry/thoughts)




This sense of beauty





Lostness   (71)



This sense of beauty
leading to a fight

an unwinnable war
against nature.


Picture the cosmetic surgeon’s blade
slicing through surfaces
beyond rhetoric
as people vote with bodies
plus their cash
showing true
symmetric bias.


imagine androids
reflect desire

to escape
by original skin
from mucus and mortality
rising above limited potential
on earth-bound fields of play


(art versus the eternal)


wounded reason has its dream
into pureness
via digitality
attaining full creativity without
infinities required

merely letters, numbers,
colour, tone.


which parts of freedom
could I claim?

Being incapable of doing much
except observe my own decay.

once standing
clearly lost
before the mirror’s reproach

“With genes like mine, who needs enemies?”
I murmured
at its polished glass

across an inner emptiness
insignificance-haunted solitude
where all experience ends



I also failed
to console loneliness
by doubt

while questioning romance
I wondered:

“Can one be in love, and not dependant?”


But answered:
“What joy did “independence” bring?”


Would “autonomy” become my latest
for aloneness?




I began thinking
about that fragile moment
when a person calls us
the first time.

And whether it
will ever happen



For me.













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





(beauty/blog/depression/drawing/love/mental health/poem/poetry/thoughts/writing)







Lostness   (70)



The loud persons pleasure
can be a quiet persons pain.


Some move within a noise-cloud
in sounds of self forgetting
creating asymmetric stress.


Fragile equilibriums
are easily disrupted

by love.


(And one achieving parity
may no longer marry up.)


But my thoughts diverted here
toward fresh questions…


Whether half-truths could be harder
to refute than lies
comparably dangerous?

Or eternal vigilance might also form a price
for falsity?

Would relativists: accused unfairly
appreciate a unitary view
that acts against injustice?





where certain writers use
impenetrable complexity
as if mere clarity
were too vulgar.

How critics resembling
intellectual porcupines
of cerebral hostility
root irritably after faults.


Should we prefer art
standing free
from explanation’s crutch?





a story concept
came to mind

about morphing text
each time it was read.


isn’t that what good books often do:

keep opening
new views through their words

showing memory’s
elusive flaws?


I abandoned the idea
(fantasy scarcely being my genre)


Though suddenly
the beginning of a different tale
spoke clear



“Boredom pressed upon him like a misshapen hat.”



Now I waited
for the rest…



did not emerge.


So I stayed

Vainly feeling aspirations
while the muse
had other calls to make.

that supposed
first line


Like me.









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





(anxiety/beauty/depression/drawing/life/loneliness/lostness/mental health/poetry)





Sadness tax






Lostness   (69)



Lottery tickets were my sadness tax


allowing dreams of riskless generosity
and seeing altruism shine, at last,
beyond this anxious poverty, while
stuck in rented social housing
lacking sound-insulation
thus ensuring peace
will not
break out.


Soon questions start their nagging:


About whether
(setting aside ill-health)
I ever headed toward success?

Or when brooding over
“Where did it all go wrong?”
becomes just more self-reproach?


Perhaps trauma
plus biology
always marked me as
eventual human wreckage?

Lying here
to gain quietude
in the soul-gloom


Seeking light
I found darkness

Needing love
I was betrayed


Where is safe exit
from such muck?

Can I reach belief without dishonour?

once life is soiled by misery
how melancholy may fetishise
an unknown.


If reality leaves parched the thirst
for a sublime
what remains but magical thinking’s
to those
nature flawed?


Some lured then follow visions
like apocalypse:

which totalise
a mean end
surmounting private ordeals
that pass generally unseen

and there
any who possess
the effrontery to outlive us
get conscripted
under fatal equality
shared through righteous fire
in gratifying flame.



So my poetry
could be another
of suffering

Its word-steam
spouting from pain’s
warm vessel

Easing off, now
after writing
still persistent

upon cycle
until whatever stokes
this heat


turns cold.







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




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



Conceptual symptoms




Lostness   (68)



I seem to be reinfected by philosophy


and hope this relapse proves temporary

though thoughts
(some off-topic)
soon erupt like symptoms
through my head…




That single acts hold meaning
lacked in a totality

As each sentence, not whole language, makes its sense

So life could have many meanings
bound to separate events
rather than reflected overall.

Hence micromeanings
without a macromeaning.



If character results from experience plus memory
living fully in the present
might depersonalise.



Are death-instincts glimpsed via powers of shame
akin to programmed cell-death (apoptosis)
scaled up on social levels?

Feedback from others keeping us alive
while prolonged isolation fuels rumination,
even entropy.



Potential instability in those whose hatred of authority
masks desire
for its love.



People quoting “God is dead” as atheism:
neglecting metaphysical



Religion also stuck at the denial stage of grief.
For millennia.



Pride in our originality
aided with ignorance of history.



Ends corrupted by means.
An ethical sentiment.



Consciousness distributed
letting organisms tap into it
at a neural interface.



Screens replace ancestral campfires
gaining an attention primed across evolution
to motion
indicating agency…




Here occurred my own distraction.


Once hail began
upon the windowpane

beneath deep grey skies
of an England
where summer
may not quite


yet somehow

always does.






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

(art/atheism/blogging/drawing/ideas/lostness/mental health/opinions/poetry/thoughts)