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)

 

 


 

 

(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)

 

 

 

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Morphing

 

Konica102310

 

 

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

even
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
hence
comparably dangerous?

Or eternal vigilance might also form a price
for falsity?

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

 

 

Next

recalling

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?

 

 

Abruptly

then

a story concept
came to mind

about morphing text
altering
each time it was read.

 

Yet
isn’t that what good books often do:

keep opening
new views through their words

showing memory’s
elusive flaws?

 

Consequently
I abandoned the idea
(fantasy scarcely being my genre)

 

Though suddenly
the beginning of a different tale
spoke clear

Saying:

 

“Boredom pressed upon him like a misshapen hat.”

 

 

Now I waited
watchful
for the rest…

 

…Which

did not emerge.

 

So I stayed

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

Thus
that supposed
first line
remains.

Alone.

Like me.

 

 

 

 

(2001)

 


 

 

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

 

 


 

 

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

 

 

 

 

Help! It’s my birthday…

 

Konica12496

 

 

Have you ever read about those people who die alone at home
and are finally discovered months later?

I used to think:

“How could anyone become so isolated?”

Now, I already seem to be headed that way.

Last of the family line.
No lovers. No close friends.
No carers. No visitors.
No letters. No phone calls
No social media.
No-one to miss me.

Unpaid bills might lead to investigations…

Eventually.

 

Thus, I fear such an end: unless I can break free of solitude.

 

But my body traps me inside the invisible cage of illness.

 

I have suffered from M.E. for 31 years.
Feeling like flu coming on…

(pain, aching, exhaustion, brain fog, sensitivity to sound, light, etc.)

…every day.

For life.

 

Coping can be tough.

Any additional problems tend to overwhelm.
And, in my case, there are plenty more:

Anxiety, mood-swings, insomnia, TMJ, PTSD, herpes, migraine, IBS, depression, stress,
kidney stones, pancreatic insufficiency, chronic vertigo…

 

Struggling with this, across three decades, has worn me down.

Recovery grows unimaginable.

Expectations need reduction.

I still hold many interests.
Though lack energy to practice them.

 

Facing another birthday, alone,
too ill to go out,
I resolved to distinguish it
with an extra blog post.

Also, by trying something childhood abuse does not make the easiest option for me:

Reaching out to others.

 

 

Best wishes to you all!

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

NB: (June 30th 2018)

I want to thank everyone for all the lovely comments;
and Sara in LaLaLand for her great kindness!

It was a wonderful surprise.

Thank You!

 

(anxiety/art/birthday/blog/loneliness/lostness/mental health/poetry/thoughts/writing)

 

 

 

 

 

Sadness tax

 

Konica10238

 

 

 

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
unable
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?

Noticing
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
temptation
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
imagined
in gratifying flame.

 

 

So my poetry
could be another
side-effect
of suffering

Its word-steam
spouting from pain’s
warm vessel

Easing off, now
after writing
yet
still persistent

rising
cycle
upon cycle
until whatever stokes
this heat

finally

turns cold.

 

 

 

 

(2000)

 


(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

 

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)

 

Tortured reason

 

Konica102313

 

 

Lostness   (66)

 

We can torture reason in the name of spirit

 

Once doubt begins to doubt itself.

 

Am I on a path already
or only lost?

Does depression cloud my sight
through defensive negativity?

 

That charge appears unfair
when striving at belief
not for comfort
but for truth

and trying to add beauty
rather than
be a dark
in darkness

 

Yet
after words fall away
what remains, except
this void from letting go
of everything
while lacking faith
in anything

unless, perhaps,
Buddhism
minus rebirth
equals more than emptiness?

 

If religion gives no consolation
why make those efforts
it demands?

 

God is an answer
breeding questions…

 

upon originating origins

whether malign outcomes
excuse a cause

people still worship higher powers
without responsibility
keen to punish weak mortals
over almost universal faults.

 

How often are we willing
to put aside
hard-won convictions

even briefly
sense them teeter
at a brink of chaos

recoiling from imagined shame
before life’s enigma
like cryptographers who
forget their key

 

Doctrine and rationality
might both prefer
leaving flesh behind
one to be pure soul
the other to be pure mind

 

Urges for transcendence
revealing alienation

 

Melancholy
also shown uncertain
noticed by an ebb and flow
where moods change faster than
philosophy

 

just as daylight
now grown brighter
across my room
cuts around these
half-closed blinds

 

so

thinking it was dust

I tried to wipe a sunbeam
from the tablecloth.

 

 

 

 

(2000)

 

 

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

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some slight romance

 

Konica12527

 

Lostness   (65)

 

Belonging: arisen by separation
from what does not belong.

 

Inclusion that excludes.

 

Identity involves division.

 

Though minds may meditate over
problems of personhood
immune systems must decide immediately
between self
and other…

as, at tribal levels, xenophobia
might protect a culture
against outside influence.

Nerves aroused in fear
attend to threats;
hostility defending
survival
under stress.

 

For anger
the world is full
of opportunity.

 

Talk being often democratic
feeling tends to bias
seeking affirmation
until a story sets
or grows mythic
exaggeration aiding recall
hence, perhaps, our ancestors
built memories around past glory
then those exemplars
gained rank
among heroes
turning, later, into gods
with legends read
toward heaven
and marked across stone.

 

 

Amid conflict
some attempt neutrality
though sitting on the fence
extensively
can make it harder to stand up
for anything.

Like learning ways to doubt
while lacking any method
of belief.

 

 

Even romance has downsides
reflected in my slight experience
on dates
where her needs seemed met
yet mine remained postponed
when she took a certain pride
at how much had been withheld.

 

Thinking back
the great reward of sex
for me
was assisting female pleasure
sharing which
to my surprise
(after such intense aloneness)
could still be done.

 

And thus I
went on clinging
to an idea
of love…

despite its long
continued
non-occurrence

here.

 

 

 

 

 

(1999-2000)

 

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

 

(art/beauty/blogging/drawing/life/loneliness/lostness/love/mental health/opinions/poetry/thoughts/writing)

 

 

 

 

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)

 

 

 

My mirror is an enemy

 

Konica12545

 

Lostness   (63)

 

 

My mirror is an enemy…

A zone of continual dissatisfaction
for someone humiliated by their own appearance.

In maleness
I already sensed myself
on eternal probation
under wary female scrutiny.

While, by beauty’s natural aristocracy,
fated to remain
hopelessly lower class.

 


 

 

Scanning a newspaper
next to the bed
it struck me how modern liberalism
looked aberrant amid history’s cruelty

(where “forgive, but remember”
seemed more prudent
than “forgive and forget”)

Much politics involved an imposition of will
by one group upon another
via law or force
as media stirred up complacency,
anger,
and impotence.

 

 


 

 

 

In illness-prone lives
biology
may assume greater interest
than missions to the stars.

Given my current
exhausted state
going out has a value
above staying put;
like hunting over gathering
(though these days women also get to hunt,
men stuck at home might still
lose status and esteem).

Here I cope with exclusion
from normality
but since sexuality
refuses to die
peace
proves elusive.

When loneliness drives me,
pushing through symptoms,
to social events
at times I experience an inkling
of being selected against
by evolution.

 

 

One recent challenge
to say something positive
about my life
almost provoked this reply:

“However submerged with uselessness
I have not entirely spared myself the effort
of attempting to think.”

 

Yet, that sounded a little too grand
so, instead,
changing the subject
by counter-question

I obtained a refuge
in silence.

 

 

 

(1993-1996)

 

(art/beauty/blogging/depression/drawing/illness/mental health/poetry/thoughts/writing)

 

Too ill to blog!

Apologies…

 

 

Having not missed a Sunday post since August 2017, today I am laid low by fever.

Cannot get my mind together or focus on words.

Appetite is gone.

Collapsed twice yesterday and hurt myself.
Everything went dark.
Retain no memory of entering the kitchen, but came to, on the floor, looking at cabinets above me. Wondering how I got there.

Cut my ear and arm.
My head caught on a box as I blacked out the first time.
Seem to have injured my neck toppling backwards.
Just could not stay upright.
Fell heavily.

This experience worried me, as I am already fragile after decades of chronic illness.

Paramedics were sent to check blood pressure, heart, etc.

I imagine this must be the influenza, that I managed to avoid during winter?

Very sorry not to be able to blog.
Need to lie down again, now.
Am in a great deal of pain from the falls,
as well as aching and disoriented due to high temperature.

 

Hope you are well?

 

Please visit again next week.

 

Best wishes to you all!

 

Thank you.

 

 

 

(blogging/illness/life/loneliness/lostness/mental health/thoughts/writing)