Potential ecstasy

 

Konica1027

 

 

 

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
unapproachable
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
judgement

or bare indifference
showing plain
full absence from desire.

 

 

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

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

 

 

However
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.

 

 

 

 

(2003)

 

 


 

 

 

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

 

 


 

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

 

 

 

 

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Hidden soundtrack

 

 

Konica1026

 

 

 

Lostness   (76)

 

 

 

Perhaps they had it wrong about Creators?

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

 

Yet
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
unscathed.

 

While
beneath these lines

lying

still unheard

 

that hidden soundtrack

of rage

 

and stifled
cries.

 

 

 

 

(2002)

 

 


 

 

 

(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

 

Konica102312

 

 

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
fixed
like moths
pinned across an old display case.

Reincarnation
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
self-moderate
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
people
in their wake?

 

 

 

(2002)

 

 


 

 

 

(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

 

Konica1025

 

 

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
living
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
unused
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
here
regretting everything

 

including
the fact
that

 

I regret everything.

 

 

 

 

(2002)

 

 


 

 

(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

 

 

Konica1024

 

 

 

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?)

 

Remembering
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
empathy

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
exceptionalism
(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
focusing
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.

 

 

 

 

(2001)

 

 


 

 

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

 

 


 

 

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

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)

 

 

 

This sense of beauty

 

Konica102311

 

 

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
inegalitarian
as people vote with bodies
plus their cash
showing true
symmetric bias.

 

Then
imagine androids
reflect desire

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

 

(art versus the eternal)

 

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

merely letters, numbers,
colour, tone.

 

Yet
which parts of freedom
could I claim?

Being incapable of doing much
except observe my own decay.

So
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
amid
insignificance-haunted solitude
where all experience ends
unshared.

 

 

Next
I also failed
to console loneliness
by doubt

Hence
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
euphemism
for aloneness?

 

 

 

Thus
I began thinking
about that fragile moment
when a person calls us
“Darling!”
the first time.

And whether it
will ever happen
somehow

here.

 

For me.

 

Again.

 

 

 

 

 

(2001)

 

 


 

 

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

 

 


 

 

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

 

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)