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 )

 

 

 

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Kinder conquest

 

 

Konica1187

 

 

Lostness   (93)

 

 

While hate, in others, looks extreme
we often see good reason for our own.

 

Vice is too rewarding
to be entirely left behind.

Hence anger could well clasp offence
as focus of an inner stress.

Scant evidence which vindicates
can bring a short relief.

 

Yet, should want
plus sensed entitlement
become deserving rights
these soon inflame
at nagging faults
with sad reality.

Heaping more frustrations over
still fermenting rage.

 

Suffering need not make us nicer.
Victims might grow merciless in
victory, when pride demands
great recompense.

 

Once armed
a doctrine gains
self-serving force.
Where bias blinds
less crimes seem unforgivable
if targeting
correct disfavoured groups.

Vengeful movements used to work
at hiding guilty secrets
newer versions, missing shame
show pictures
post event.

 

After harmful acting out
an understanding may be sought
and so one hears excuses sound
in softer hearts
like codependent abusees
appease bad-tempered bullying
holding back from bolder speech
they tiptoe round to keep
a peace that rarely lasts
for long.

 

Later
conflict starts again.

Best maintain patience, anyway

just hoping, somehow
kindness, caring,
empathy

will spread worldwide

and conquer all.

 

Admittedly
it’s hard to find

an empire won
by love.

 

 

 

 

(2010)

 


 

 

(Any art on the blog is mine. Comments are very welcome!)

(Am very ill and low at present: finding it hard to keep this going.
Viral attack is further impeding concentration. Hope my writing makes sense?
Thank you for reading.)

 


 

( art / beauty / culture / depression / drawing / ideas / lostness / love / mental health / philosophy / poem / poetry / politics )

 

Resumed voyaging

 

Konica1198-1

 

 

Lostness   (92)

 

 

 

For almost three years I couldn’t write a line.

Life in chaos
mind submerged
by darkness
agitation, stress, anxieties.

Forced from home a second time.

 

But two months after moving out
I opened my old notebook at an empty page
and put down 2010’s first entry…

 

“Imagining others are as incapable of faith as oneself.
A nihilistic hubris?”

 

 

Then came:

“Apocalyptic fantasy: nourishing resentful spirits.
Solipsists who’d take whole worlds along
on last goodbyes.
Oblivion universalised.”

 

 

Too unwell for upbeat, still
the next part read:

“Certain states rely upon denial;
of incompatibilities, suppressed hostilities,
psychic energies: sublimated or expressed,
attracting and repelling, asymmetric animus
from sides most triggered, nursing ardent hatreds
in the name of love.

So sexed-up cultures may offend
traditions wedded to austerity,
with tolerance seeming weaker
when neutrality proves impotent
against fiercer cries.

Though even optimism,
grown dogmatic,
might repress us
alleging our own good.

While those lacking ideology, perhaps
retreat through irony, plus sneers.

 

Truth has a tendency
to arrive too late.”

 

 

Such thoughts were hardly pleasant
and remained unshared.

Yet at least my pen had
resumed
voyaging

by leaving marks
which traced ideas

across
this fresh

white space.

 

 

 

 

(2010)

 


 

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

 

(PS: Have been very ill and low recently, finding it hard to keep going, would be really nice to hear from someone.
It gets so quiet on my site, with such a tiny audience.

Thank you for reading.)

 


 

( anxiety / art / beauty / depression / drawing / ideas / lostness / mental health / philosophy / poem / poetry / thoughts / writing )

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)

Conceptual symptoms

 

Konica12548

 

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…

 

 

1

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.

 

2

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

 

3

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.

 

4

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

 

5

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

 

6

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

 

7

Pride in our originality
aided with ignorance of history.

 

8

Ends corrupted by means.
An ethical sentiment.

 

9

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

 

10

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

 

 

 

Here occurred my own distraction.

 

Once hail began
tapping
upon the windowpane

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

 

yet somehow
autumn

always does.

 

 

 

 

(2000)


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

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

 

Random news

 

 

Konica12557

 

Lostness   (64)

 

 

Unshared experience is lost to the world.

 

During struggles with oblivion
might fatalism offer solace
for a botched existence
by transcending the indignity
of randomness?

 

Infinity, god, and zero

 

flash across my mind
as if not quite understood
like signs in search of full meaning…

 

A sudden racket, from outside, interrupted these thoughts.

 

Noise invades private space
against our will.
Triggering vigilance.
Becoming harder to ignore
or endure.

 

I reached for distraction
via a bedside newspaper…

 

Reading, first,
that psychopaths share great success
at producing children.

(Possibly a better evolutionary strategy
than writing poems?
Though not the best advertisement
for female mate-choice.)

 

Next, an article on cryogenics.

Thus some rich Americans aspired to avoid
life’s traditional twin certainties:
death and taxes.

(“Truths are not self-evident,” I mumbled,
“Men being made unequal.
Rights find wishes, recast as law.”)

 

A headline mentions “Community care”.

Yet cities lack community,
and nobody cares.

(Presumably
“Neglect in the community”
sounded less appealing?)

 

A reader’s letter, praising divine creation,
bemoaned devilish influences.

(Why god created Satan
went unconsidered.)

 

A book review questioned fiction
spanning barriers of class and gender.

(Autobiography
should be a safer option;
given approved opinions?)

 

A survey revealed
celibates suffer twice the mortality rate
of men getting regular, weekly, sex.

“My situation is one long touch deprivation,”
I mutter, gloomily.

Having gone without such pleasure for years
perhaps there could be more
than mere hyperbole
to an admission that,

yes,

“I’m dying for it.”

 

 

 

(1996)

 

(anxiety/art/blogging/depression/drawing/ideas/illness/life/mental health/poetry)

 

 

 

Slowly deleted

Konica12550

 

 

Lostness   (58)

 

 

Writing, because I cannot live…

 

Impatient from excess rest.
Thirsting for experience…

Physical problems reveal thought’s futility;
its empty hands.

Mind, fails to help: adding suffering.
Reflections undermining will.

 

Illness constrains activity…

 

Intensifying an unhappiness which going out might reduce,
at least, via diversion.

I remember once giving things up prematurely.
Now, persistence increases pain.

 

A phrase haunts me:

“You always love your second talent best.”

In my case, dropping art for music, and these struggles
to fit words together.

Occasional reveries still arise, about unexpected skill,
being found by experiment.

Though women and chess soon exposed my limitations
at new kinds of challenge.

 

Reality can become a stage for humiliation.

 

There are nights when even my dreams resemble third-rate TV:
inconsequential, or showing repeats.

Perhaps sickness also diminishes the unconscious?
Some inner shrivelling
as I endure this lasting absence of human warmth
across continued solitude
carrying an unwelcome burden
that is my sexuality.

Isolation tightens a cold embrace
while my genes get slowly deleted
from the database of existence.

I contrast the glamorous dead,
whose images stir passion beyond their graves,
with my own disappearance
seen as aesthetic cleansing.

 

The longer I remain alone, the uglier I feel.

 

Hence those fantasies of transformation
envisaging exile’s distressed profundity, yielding,
amid a comforting, attractive,
shallowness.

 

Beauty may only be “skin deep”
but that is as deep
as many want to go.

 

 

 

(1993)

 

(beauty/blogging/depression/ideas/loneliness/mental health/poetry/thoughts/writing)

 

Tormented by blue sky

 

konica12502-e1521394589531.jpg

 

Lostness   (56)

 

 

Craving touch, in a rather un-English way…

 

At times, feeling like some warm person, misplaced,
amid cold cultures…

I still have romantic dreams about unapproachable women,
who might sneer, behind tinted glass, as they pass me:
sitting by the bus stop
with library books and photocopied poetry,
in a carrier bag.

Then, while lifting my telephone
(which, being very long silent, I check remains working)
there comes an autobiographical idea for a story, called
“Not having friends”.

But was that situation entirely my fault?
People could have made attempts to befriend me.

I remember little interest, toward myself, emerging from anyone.

 


 

 

Impressions

 

 

Impressions move
among solitude
and disappear.

 

Mornings
waking too far under
for faith I shall rise

Illness
taking so much away

Alone on a bed
sensing things fade

Forced letting-go
yet wanting return.

 

 

Around open windows
curtains wave softly

Light
bouncing off leaves.

Tormented by blue sky
this body
hungry to respond

Against existence, slipping
through
these unheld fingers

Where each day sees an absence
of grace
love
or beauty
from my world.

 

Later
with evening closing in
I noticed a faint shadow
resembling smeared pencil-marks
across the white wall.

It evaporated, gently,
as the sun
went down.

 

 

And
I wondered
how many others
now wane
neglected
in their rooms?

 

 

 

(1992)

 

(beauty/blogging/depression/ideas/loneliness/mental health/poem/thoughts/writing)

 

Illumination’s alchemy

 

konica12504.jpg

Lostness   (54)

 

I fret upon the rubble of stories my ancestors fought over.

 

Should I turn from masochistic truth
toward lies to live by?

 

Once reality seems unbearable, faith may appear essential.

 

Yet, what if current religions fail to inspire?
Despite unwanted needs for community and authority
festering beneath victorious individualism.

Where a sacred vocabulary reveals hierarchy…
does holiness subvert equality?

 

 


 

 

Which path to follow?

 

Some decisions expose reason’s insufficiency.

 

Doubts are so fertile.

Not merely when facts can be cited on opposing sides,
or that assertions occur within time,
and memory is fallible…
but, since being taught to speak by others,
can one even be sure about the meaning of words
used to describe inner experience?

Moving away from philosophy
a personal question arises:
do I lack metaphysical capacities?
Am I simply deficient in certain feelings,
required for belief…

Like those associated with beauty:
as yearning lights up the beloved
in an aura of attraction
while strangers fall outside
illumination’s alchemy.

 

 


 

 

I consider my empty life…

 

If everything desired becomes unattainable, why continue to strive?

 

 


 

 

Now
amid enduring isolation
and illness
any rare examples
of female conversation
involving myself
tend to resemble an interview
concerning a job
for which
I am unqualified.

 

Though
occasionally
I meet women
who are indecisive
about their passion

they always know

it isn’t
me.

 

 

 

 

(1990-92)

 

(aphorisms/blogging/depression/ideas/mental health/opinions/poetry/thoughts/writing )

 

 

 

Jangled inertia

 

Konica12554

 

 

Lostness   (53)

 

In an indifferent universe, not loving oneself invites adversity.

 

I am also wary of conditional self-esteem:
which only accepts a “special” existence,
being intolerant toward the ordinary.

 

Could self-hatred make us incapable of a happy relationship…
even with ourselves?

 

Inner severity undermines attempts at kindness.

 

Abuse lives on through psychic forces.
Internal voices.
Always ready to attack.

 

I remember the child, looking to its mother for protection,
not realising she was a source of his father’s power.

 

Against injustice, hatred may feel like strength.

 

Prejudice as a default condition.
Ethics to rationalise aesthetics.

 

I was trapped behind this face.
Rejected for lacking beauty.

 

Could these perceptions be fought?

 

Many things might jangle the inertia of beliefs
but resistance needs overcoming for them to change.

 

I recall meeting people whose desire for control led to a doctrine
of personal invulnerability.
Claiming nothing happened without their assent.

As if illness and death were for wimps.

Unfortunately, they all had at least one
unpleasant surprise due
in old age.

 

 

Sensing my mind wander
after philosophy
then
a question loomed…

 

Am I still romantic enough
to imagine that some verbal answer
for the problems of life
will banish
despair?

 

 

 

 

(1990)

(psychology/mental health/depression/thoughts/ideas/opinions/aphorisms/poetry/writing/blogging)