Anal textuality

 

scan 7

 

 

 Scree       (Part 2)

 

 

Message from agent Bubo

 

Like some beautiful marble face encased by muck
history can also be favourably cleansed, dear friends!

(While, with the excellent results of God’s mysterious love
our opponents shall appear deservedly languishing in slime.)

Let us promote an end to psychic hierarchy and unpleasantness.

What joy!

 

Indeed, we should find life energy-possessed.

Yet certain people still write about “infinite exhaustion”.

Alas! The toxic union which links sensitivity and depression has even engendered a reluctance to breed (producing more suffering).

Yes! Philosophical infections persist.
Among victims, doubt knots its unsettling intimations through their very bowels:
insidious as a tapeworm!

Thus, noticing how things decay (becoming fodder for plants, plus tiny repulsive organisms), these types dwell anxiously upon death.
Because they are without faith in soul’s renewal:
when signs release transcendent meaning.
Undestroyed by halted blood.

 

Rest assured, all your activities have a function.
Remember that discussing fallibility could form another nexus for weakness
or anal textuality.

If stressed, simply contact a nearby security centre, using the code, “Twinkle, twinkle, little star”.

 

Always remain confident over our collective power.
Repeat its positive mottos.

Just ignore any diabolic shapes
briefly sensed pulsing

in darkness.

 

 

 


 

 

Feedback recieved.

1 recent item.
(Unapproved)

 

 

Mottos ? Oh yeah,

“From each according to his stupidity.
To each according to his greed.”

Ha ha!

 

Until next time,

Limbo dancer.

 

 


 

(1972)

 


 

(This is part 2 of “Scree”, which I wrote at age 16.

Though basically prose, a few poetic elements crept in.

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

Comments are always welcome!

Thank you for reading.)

 


 

( anxiety / art / blog / depression / fiction / humor / humour / mental health / poetry / politics / reading / thoughts / writing )

Advertisements

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 )

 

Dreaming words

scan 8

 

 

After wishing verse would

emerge
again

thrown whole
by a pen-nibs edge
with ease.

Alight in mind
like shapes
which were somehow
seen if
I closed my eyes
before they had
been drawn.

When this hand felt
guided on
during artwork
once.

Yet I soon mislaid
any gift
then veered so far
beyond its path

found
blocked from
all return.

 

(But
never did forget
the loss.)

 

 

Only signs
(no colours)
lead me now.

Across more barren
years I search for
them
impatiently.

Though trying  just
at trusting
maybe through
the haze might
come a few that
stay here
long enough

while
my ink still
flows.

 

Until
such point
one can merely
wait

and hope
not count upon

those
dreaming
words

(unbidden)

to
arrive.

 

 

 

 

(2017)

 


 

In “The strange magic of blogging” I wrote about how my daily notes ( “Lostness” ) kept morphing: poetising themselves, during the editing process.

But above is the first verse to arise spontaneously for 13 years.
It may not be my best, yet at least I can now “come out”
as no longer (quite) an “ex poet”?

Thus, unexpectedly, WordPress brought me back to poetry, after all.

 


 

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

Comments are very welcome!

Thank you for reading.)

 


 

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

 

 

Fun with Comments!

 

scan 3

 

 

                Lostness   ( 107 )

 

 

Have you ever found comments more enjoyable than a text?

Or been drawn by the threads below news website articles?

 

Lacking any previous online voice, I opened a reader account in 2012.
Reacting around current events, and seeing my responses appear in public for the first time, seemed quite exciting.

Though many people’s debating skills hardly rose above playground levels
(fast communication allowed expression ahead of sober consideration)
there was fun to be had!

Especially under pieces which were fairly lightweight.

 


 

 

Here are a few examples of mine, from those days, with their related topics in brackets.

 

( Please note: these tongue-in-cheek remarks should not be taken seriously!)

 

1) ( Weekend “zombie walks”)

“I wouldn’t be seen dead looking like that!”

 

2) ( Complaints over paganism being taught at school)

“Perhaps certain sacrifices may be required, in the cause of inclusion?”

 

3) ( On the spread of veganism)  “Resistance is fruitile!”

 

4) ( Embarrassment when gay porn got accidentally shown behind a newscaster)

“Nice to watch him bend over backwards to apologise!”

 

5) ( The theory dinosaur flatulence contributed to climate change)

“This sounds like a lot of hot air!”

 

6) ( Discussing female sexuality)

“I thought the quickest way to arouse a woman was telling her there’s a shoe sale on?”

 


 

 

But comment threads soon sank into digital obscurity.

So, fearing frivolous new interests leading me astray
while all my past creative work lay neglected and unseen,
I gave up such commenting.

A severe health crisis during 2014-2015 increased my sense of urgency to finally publish something.

Yet it took until 2017 before I felt able to commence blogging.

(And, 2 years later, I’m still struggling.)

 

 

Now, however, I would advise anyone unsure about getting started:

Don’t be hesitant, like me,
or you might also regret
delaying your experience of WordPress!”

 

 

 

 


 

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

Comments are very welcome!

Thank you for reading. )

 


 

( art / blog / blogging / fun / humor / humour / life / lostness / mental health / news / reading / thoughts / writing )

 

Spun from light

 

Konica12576

 

 

 Lostness    ( 105 )

 

 

Who decided we need music in bookshops?

Why save no peaceful corners for
a quiet soul to seek?

 

Introverts get reduced choice
as others move to bar more space
from unfilled silent time.

Creating asymmetric stress
on those made tense by noise.

 

Aping malls, cafes, and
lavatories: will
libraries soon
proclaim some added sounds?

 

At hospitals
I’ve fretted
pain’s lost hours
trapped facing
fixed TV’s.

(Many adverts later
euthanasia gained appeal.)

 

Illness drove me there again
a body breaking down.

Sat wishing I’d been spun from light
not draped by weary flesh.

 

 

Awareness of deficiencies
may leave unsolved
their cure.

Though deep within
are yearnings for
a place
beyond this state.

 

Yet being gloomy
through these moments
what will brighten up the rest?

(Or if I can’t change now
then when?)

 

 

But misfortunes
starve
an appetite
that hungers after hope.

 

And a heart craves
thought
which
comforts.

 

While
sour truths

just feed
despair.

 

 

 

(2012)

 


 

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

Comments are always very welcome!

It’s so nice when people break the silence and isolation of blogging with chronic illness.

Thank you all for reading.)

 


 

( anxiety / art / blogging / depression / lostness / mental health / music / painting / poem / poetry / reading / thoughts / writing )

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 )

 

 

 

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 )

The nemesis of antipathy

 

Konica12855

 

 

Lostness   (91)

 

 

Wouldn’t a compassionate god enjoy releasing souls from Hell
rather than prolonging their pain?

 

This question abruptly occurred in my head
though having no source of reply.

 

And even if it had
I anticipated some intellectual resistance
toward simple explanations
(anyone might understand those).

 

 

My mind soon turned to dwell upon
more personal concerns.

How totally love shunned me
yet I still attracted hate
(at times not really knowing why).

Being especially wary once such feelings stirred
around stupidity

perhaps provoking hostile action beyond
reason’s calculation
given dispositions lacking thought.

 

Lives can be ruined
over trivia
amid crowded city stresses
where excess noise
also amplifies mistrust.

 

Further disappointment
is the frequency ill-will
gets re-encountered
while people I desire to see are
rarely met again.

I call it: “The nemesis of antipathy”.

 

My problem isn’t staying
quietly in my room

but finding neighbours
quite content
to do the same.

 

 

 

 

(2007)

 


 

 

These were my last lines from 2007.

Drug dealers moved in below me. A nightmare began.

Three months of harassment, threats, and floor-vibrating din, later:
I had been driven out, after 15 years.

Nerves shattered, I ended-up in an old people’s home, on medical grounds.
But by then I was so sensitised to intrusive electronic sound that the TV and radio noise coming through the walls kept causing symptoms.

I felt trapped; grew depressed and suicidal.

Not until I transferred to my current flat, which took 3 distressing years (in 2010), could I manage any more writing…

 

 


 

 

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

 


 

( anxiety / art / depression / drawing / hate / life / lostness / love / mental health / philosophy / poetry / thoughts / writing )

 

 

Struck by deja poo

 

Konica10234

 

 

Lostness   (90)

 

 

 

My body jumps as a mailshot lands
quite loudly on the hallway floor

“Giving you what you want!’

Proclaims its headline.

The leaflet shows alcohol plus discount meats
not health and friends or inner peace.

A non-drinking vegetarian: I was unimpressed
at bold assumption’s impudence.

This occurred while sat upon the lavatory
struck by deja poo

sudden feelings I’d already been before.

 

Concentration scattered
I returned to the main room
there my notebook still lay open
and a recent entry asked:

“Sensing their power over us, might we expect
latent unconscious resentment
against our beloved?”

 

(Posed hypothetically.
Since I endure life within a love-free zone.)

 

 


 

 

Continuing, I read three more…

 

“Those peeved at the insults of judgement
may prefer other people unraised.”

 

“Reducing unhappiness seems more viable
than pressured positivity.”

 

“If what we are results from what we’ve been,
why exactly were we that?
Is identity dependant on ungrasped knowledge
of the past?”

 

 


 

 

 

Being prey to disconnected thoughts
written down for respite
leading nowhere

I mutter “Cogito ergo bum”
in vague frustration

hungry now
so heading kitchenward

avoiding all involvement with the mirror:

that getting drawn
by visual faults too
clearly sighted
from
a critic’s eye.

 

Because my face
remained one problem

mind alone had
always
failed

to solve.

 

 

 

 

(2007)

 

 


 

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

 


 

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

 

Lost time

 

Konica12858

 

Lostness   (87)

 

 

 

Opening the book reveals a lone dark hair

left curled between its surfaces.

 

This single strand lay hidden
sixteen years
inside Proust’s “Remembrance of things past”
still coloured from before my going grey.

Encountered, not expected
like a trigger for new recollection.

Ironically placed
amid the very scene where changes
wreaked upon appearance
by old age
are best described.

 

An ending near ascension and epiphany
after lengthy disillusion
carrying conceptual weight beyond
preceding textual mass

Suggesting art might fill a faith-shaped void

yet how many find that happen?

 

 

(I also broke my only clock
whilst reading:
ill and housebound
having no computer, mobile phone or watch
thus felt slightly vague
in time.)

 

 

Finishing the work
we learn

despite all seeming fruitless
during long despondence

later, Marcel gained his true
vocation as a writer

reclaiming what was lost
across an odyssey
of moments.

 

 

Now my own life’s shrunken
among little
but impressions

I retain hopes
to one day sink back
through that sensuous web’s
great edifice of memory

following those faded scents
down paths toward
some beauty
far less disappointing
than the humdrum flux
existence brings.

 

So
then

once more
before it grows
too late

just let me
turn
the page.

 

 

 

 

(2006)

 

 


 

(Any art on the blog is mine.  Comments are very welcome!  Thank you for reading.)

 


 

(art / beauty / books / culture / drawing / fiction / life / lostness / mental health / poetry / Proust / reading / writing )