It pretty much happened like Pablo said, how one day poetry just shows up looking for you,
and you, feeling a bit scared, like when you ended up with the tall off-balanced girl for a lab partner and actually had to talk to her, honestly, then realizing how beautiful she was,
became a good friend. Took the side of the chaotic, defended the skewed, praised the divinely multi-dimensional.
You wrote what you felt. Put your reserve on the shelf and twisted the words into new directions.
It’s a poem because it feels.
So I wander the streets til I get enjambed with something that makes no sense but still feels like a truth needing a place to sit. Some how I have to synthesize: listen to to screamer at the corner; divine how the world speaks through beauty and tragedy and mystery. I love art. Art is what reaches down into the bag of godstuff and creates something that only you can make. Art is singularly you.
To all of you still reading me- thank you bunches. I’m still carving out time for redbubble. For those who leave any comments thank you, I’m still working on the time to read and respond. Thank you everyone.
Neil deGrassee says that we are spinning along with the planet at 800 miles an hour and that if earth stopped spinning even for just one second, we would all go flying eastward at 800 miles an hour and that would be a bad day on Earth. But Einstein said that time speeds up and slows down and that space is curved – so maybe we would all just go around the corner, albeit a bit fastly. / The …
It’s hard sometimes – to distance from the timeline, what was and what’s coming. Even harder is to see beyond prefigured scales of place; each life like those crazy Russian dolls each one fitting a specific niche and scale. / But it helps to think in terms of soul. And I don’t mean soul in body, but just soul. / My precious little family is getting into a home this week.…
“To work deliberately in the form of the fragment can be seen as stopping or appearing to stop a work closer, in the process, to what Blanchot would call the origin of writing, the centre rather than the sphere. It may be seen as a formal integration, an integration into the form itself, of a question about the process of writing. It can be seen as a response to the philosophical problem of…