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 )

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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 )

 

Inner wealth?

 

Konica12555

 

 

 

Lostness   (85)

 

 

To love what you are best at
not get sidetracked

forms a fortunate conjoining
which
I lost so long ago.

Looking back across the wasteland of my misled paths
desires emerge that
all things cohere.

Hence this scanning notes
and journals
searching memories

But why expect I could
systematise
an entire lifetime’s work?

Hard enough just staying in the moment
focussed
during writing

since my mind diverts on sudden
unrelated thoughts…

 

Here these start from questions:

Am I only poor because I want?

May we measure inner wealth
by what can be done without?

Or, rather
make our stern excuse
for purist deprivation?

 

Next, recalling Huxley’s claim
that speed provides
the one genuinely modern pleasure.

I assume he never had a blow-up woman
let alone an android lover?

(Me neither, though
each lonely year
the prospect of such artificial company
grows slightly less unwelcome.)

 

And if, instead
I’d found a wife
was there any chance for
taking deep responsibilities
in parenthood?

Should I have dared
to lay the heavy burden of mortality
upon new being
while fearful this might pass
some faulty genes?

 

None remain to share
a sadness
now my bloodline
ends with me.

 

Lastly, then
arose the qualms
around Earth’s overpopulation.

Yet, moving past bare numbers
who
confronted by a need for lists
of those considered surplus

would volunteer
to write down

their own name?

 

 

 

 

(2005)

 

 


 

 

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

 

 


 

( art / beauty / depression / drawing / lostness / love / mental health / poem / poetry / quotes / reading / thoughts / writing )

 

 

 

 

 

Gratifying paranoia

 

 

Konica1188

 

 

 

Lostness   (84)

 

 

 Upset at an injustice

we can feel let down by life

and overwhelmed
decide
primal unfairness thus
extends
across from illness
on to death.

 

Sometimes great dejection
unrelieved
grown toxic
drives a pen
exhaling word-fumes
as its vent.

 

But still ideas recur
of better ways
and systems

Views that provoke taking sides.

So wanting all might share
in these fond dreams
may soon produce the wish
for countering dissent.

Such tendencies have often led
toward coercion:

Force made bold
since lacking guilt
perhaps outlaws offence

itself offensive to
old freedoms
won through cost

existing safer knowing
who despised us
rather than
instead
kept hid by silence
out of fear.

 

While rights attained
could work as weapons
pitting groups against
their rivals.

Or awareness
believed raised
seem gratified
embracing paranoia
with its certainty.

 

Observing euphemisms form
diverse in latent tension
sees a shift away from conflict
about honour

basing renewed status
on complaint.

 

When well-fed grievance
thrives

competitive
in victim styles

some innocents are shocked
at finding hatred
among places where
they once had hoped
or played

expectant

eager

to be liked.

 

 

 

(2004)

 

 


 

 

 

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

 

 

 


 

 

( art / culture / depression / drawing / illness / life / lostness / mental health / poem / poetry / politics / thoughts / writing.)

 

 

Art versus death

 

Konica128510

 

 

Lostness   (83)

 

 

 

I bought a book about procrastination
but haven’t got around to reading it.

 

Self help texts aid my stasis
(planning is more fun than change)

such titles may well stimulate
yet also fuel reproaches
staring down from shelves
while I stay useless

mocked by any dreams
in which one shines some vital
talent through
the mundane’s
dreary cavern.

 

 

An easier course
might be retreat
defensive
as a cynic
sneering after talk of virtue
lest its light disclose
base interest.

 

Notice pleasure gossip brings
when shown those famous
marred by faults

Or reassuring stories
of flawed genius
whose defects sooth
a quiet envy
at distinctions
liable to inflame
the ego’s wounds.

 

 

Another route adopts a playful resignation
because philosophy was soon perceived
exposing
thought’s futility

so then concludes:

“If better minds than mine
can reach no answer
to life’s problems
why not give up boring study
for indulgence?”

 

 

Though these methods fail
in sharper sorrows

found creating
out of desperation
with small palettes
stressed by time

too conscious
art
is versus death

whatever traces
have been clawed back

from the abyss.

 

 

 

 

(2004)

 


 

 

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

 

 


 

 

(art/beauty/books/depression/drawing/life/lostness/mental health/poem/poetry/reading/thoughts/writing.)

 

Disruptive joy

 

Konica1197

 

 

Lostness   (79)

 

 

I watch a couple walking past.

One face wore the sort of controlled blankness
useful around jealous partners.

It triggers memory…

A woman I once dated
who would abruptly ask:
“You like her, don’t you?”
about another female
barely noticed.

My surprise
before pausing to consider
if attraction could ignite
at this specific instance
may not have been the best response
but reflex denial
seemed less honest.

She later left me, after all.

And so has everybody else.

Hence I search reflections
in my lostness
that attempt to conjure sense
amid futility.

 

Yet any cynical defences
might still get swiftly pierced
from kindness.

Perhaps I should even distrust
the slowly setting concrete of depression
when a simple act
could be enough
to undermine constraint
against responsive feeling.

Recently exampled
where
along some sunlit path
the happy child had spun
behind a mother’s back
and shared discreet expression
of its joy with me
as I fought an urge
which drew a hand
to briefly
land my gentlest pat
(unseen by others)
on the little upturned head.

Thus we parted
trailing smiles.

Though mine soon faded
through more musing

formed across such
rare disruption

to this dismal
constant

called
aloneness.

 

 

 

 

(2001/2003)

 

 


 

 

 

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

 

 

 


 

 

(art/beauty/blog/depression/drawing/life/lostness/mental health/poem/poetry/relationships/thoughts/writing)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Contrary stance

 

Konica12501

 

 

 

Lostness    (78)

 

 

 

Absence of desire

can be felt as loss
or liberation.

 

Watching advertisements
feeding need for things
which faith was meant to ease.

 

Arts have also craved
a standing beyond
disdained normality

there titles gain allure
before toil begins.

(Hence aspiring authors who may
sooner dream than write.)

Stories ripen
and want telling
lacking value
if unshared.

Cultures laud their fabrication
yet it might be reframed
a skillful form of fidgeting
chosen since we cannot rest content
with simply being.

 

Then I though of works where
an urge to shock
grew tedious

like a drunk set quarrelsome
fixated on the same contrary stance
deflecting any hope
for wider love.

 

 

While others revered
the exotic
holding what is local in contempt
perhaps lured by sensing secrets?

(Recalling those that
post-disaster
turn
to Nostradamus over Camus
fate covering
absurd indecencies of pain.)

 

Now
following assault
through centuries
upon significance
displacing older human-centred views
cold science leaves undimmed
the thirst for fame.

 

Are we
at times unwise
neglecting
drawbacks possible
from raising certain spikes among
some stranger’s envy?

 

Belief has often led to conflict.

 

Even beauty
spurred ugly deeds

once

(driven by obsession)

pure ends

excused indulgence

in a cruelty
of means.

 

 

 

 

(2003)

 

 


 

 

 

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

 

 

 


 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.)

 

 

 


 

 

 

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