the end of something beautiful

Well, that happened. Turns out the people who criticized our relationship have won. The wagging tongues got what they wanted (even if they didn’t explicitly want it, they certainly didn’t help).

Sure, they’re going to say that it wasn’t ever really love. I’m quite sure that’s going to be the reaction; the way that they are going to try to comfort me. That I was being used, or just ‘convenient’ because I’m here and I ‘can’t’ go anywhere entirely on my own (so I couldn’t drop in unexpectedly, for example). They’re going to say that I shouldn’t be crying or sad over a girl who ‘clearly’ wasn’t ‘right’ for me.

I think I’m only really sad cause I feel that in another life, another place, another time, we could have been so much more. Because together we really made sparks fly. Not all the time, but we did. That and I miss her already.

Usually, after a breakup, or at least an admission of ‘this doesn’t work’, I feel like shit. Sure, it’s the pain of separation and all that, but in the past, this post-break up period usually features a lot of hate-justification (sorry, I don’t know what else to call it). You know, the usual ‘she hated this thing about me so why should I be with her – I’ll be better off without her’ or feeling numb. Strangely, this time around I just feel… sadness and relief. Not entirely relief, to be honest. It hurts like I’ve been stabbed or stung by an electrically charged whip (never been whipped, so maybe that’s just my imagination) but I kept anticipating that something was going to go wrong (partly because we just got so much shit thrown at us from other people and partly because there were times where I annoyed the hell out of her). Now that it’s happened, it hurts but I can’t hate her. Or be angry at her (not for long anyway).

In the past, I worked myself up into such a state that I couldn’t talk to a partner right after a breakup.

Now, I can’t stop myself talking to her. Whether out loud, on Facebook or in my head, I just want to hear her voice. I just want to hug her, to hold her. To make it all okay. I dunno why; maybe cause she’s the first person who even got close to seeing under all my layers, the me without my ‘armour’, without me being able to put distance between us – without me wanting to put distance between us. Maybe it’s cause she’s younger (first time I’ve been with someone younger  all other partners have been either older or same age as me) so in a way, I feel responsible. I felt responsible from the beginning, though; perhaps I truly love her. Maybe I just think I do. Maybe it’s just cause she cried on my shoulder once or twice, and let me cry on hers, so I felt… useful. I felt wanted. I felt warm on the inside. I felt I was home, like I belonged. You know that feeling people talk about, like you’re on earth just to be with this person? Just to hold ’em, smell ’em, kiss ’em, etc? That. Mushy, painful, and probably anti-polyamory (although I fully endorse the idea of polyamory, I’ve never tried it) but it really felt like that. I’m not saying I’ll die without her. I’m not saying I can’t/won’t be happy without her but I don’t want to live without her either. Foolish, I know.

I’ve never quite felt like that before; I probably won’t feel it exactly the same again. Sure, we have issues – with ourselves, with each other, with the world. On bad days, it was shit, utter shit, no? But on the good days, hell, it was fucking poetry. So… thank you for the poetry.

I’ve realised this is probably more damaging to her than it is to me. So I have to let her go. The rest remains to be seen.

[Soppy, innit? This is not to say that previous relationships weren’t important – my experiences have sculpted me more or less into what I am today, so… thanks to all of them.]

This is probably going to smack of some cracked up philosophy bullshit, but I’m going to say it anyway: I’ve realised that people seem to be more moved by sunsets than by sunrises. Maybe it’s cause they make you realise that something entrancing like a sunset does truly end (till the sunrise and the next one, of course).

So here’s a picture of something pretty I found on the Internets:

Image result for sunset northern lights

An image of Aurora Borealis – ‘borrowed’ from the Telegraph newspaper.

Yes, I realise I sound like I just stepped out of a heartbreaking romance. I’ll be ok. Soon. Promise.

This is good. So I tell myself. Pain lets us know we’re alive, right?

I suppose another good thing to come out of this whole thing is that I’ve learnt that writing is my strength. It was the first place I ran to after my surgery, and when it got too much, I came back to it. It brought me back. It brought back the balance (whatever balance that is…). Not writing is bad. Bad for me, and bad for literature (geez, ain’t I modest? 😛 ). Still, whatever other people say about my ‘talents’, I reckon I’m a poet at heart. That’s really, truly, what I do best.

See ya round.

Silence

Wow. It’s April.

And I’m still here.

I know, I know, I’ve been really really quiet recently. Well, since January (if I’m not mistaken). I don’t remember the last time I wrote a blog post. Lots has happened – stuff I’m not sure I want to share. I’ve realised things about myself that I might’ve missed completely had certain things not happened. Things like: I occasionally behave like an ass. People forgive me – I think it might be a benefit of the doubt type thing – although I have trouble forgiving myself for things I say or don’t say, things I do or don’t do.

I also realised that writing always helps my mental state. Even when I can’t be assed. I was in a really dark place – anger does that to you, I guess (or do you do it to yourself by yielding to it? A friend of mine claims that you choose to get angry about things, and choose to feel miserable. Of course, this thinking doesn’t help when you feel like shit). Anyway, I had little – or well, nothing – to lose so I decided to give 750words.com another shot. Although I do have other creative outlets (drawing, playing music, etc.), writing is ultimately irreplaceable. Maybe it’s cause I generally don’t like talking much, so it gets things out my system. Maybe it’s just my way of filtering events.

While on the subject of talking, it seems people are genuinely unnerved by silence. Even in a social setting, if you are the one in the group that says little or even nothing, people seem to perceive this as a bad sign. While in theory I know that being introverted, socially awkward or quiet is definitely not a bad thing, it’s taken a lot of reflection to fully grasp it – mainly because not saying much is treated like a problem. But hey, going out and saying stuff just to make sure people don’t feel uncomfortable is so much better? OK, enough with the sarcasm. I’ve been told I need to stop being so vitriolic when I’m pissed off. Trying to keep it in check; the silence has helped a bit with that. Since I don’t feel the express need to say something or react immediately, I am calmer.

Also, I’ve started reading again. This really feels like an achievement. Giving myself space to read 1 chapter a day – and accepting that there will be days where more than that is just too much for me – seems to have worked. I finished off a book I had started ages ago in Greek and just today started Orhan Pamuk’s ‘A Strangeness in my Mind’.  Will let you know if it’s any good.

Anyhow, I should probably go now. I have to go eat dinner (just some cheese on toast, nothing fancy) and then probably watch a film or continue writing or reading. I just thought I’d drop by and say hello so you don’t think something’s happened to me! I will claw my way back into the writing and blogging game, I promise. Not for you, but for me. After all, why else do it? Doing it for anyone else… would it be worth it?

#poetry : basic shapes

basic shapes

two lines – that’s all I need –

to weave me into a dance

dizzying coil

fling me free as a feather

into jazz, metal, blues

and then pop – it’s a soft landing.

two lines alone

to pour confessions into thirsty ears

in a communion of beats, notes, pauses

all in time.

two lines – no more – are all it takes

to ‘store in a cool, dry place’

a dose of shimmering

stagnant

elixir of life mass-produced

–        what good is your erosive entropy

now you’re trapped in a transparent tower?

two lines – no less – are enough

to get lost

two lines exactly

to leave me exposed

and two more still

 

to bring me home.

surfacing from the void…

So…. after a very long silence, I’m back! Kinda. I am just resurfacing after a few weeks of writing poetry for university. Just handed in the longest poem I’ve ever written (it’s about 5 pages long – and that’s only partly due to double-spacing) for an assignment. Well, technically, I handed it in at 5 a.m.this morning, but shhhhhhh…

Anyway, I thought I’d do some poetry sharing for today – the next few posts include poems that have been written for the purposes of nailing down some techniques (voice, imagery, that sort of thing). Of course, being the intelligent wolf that I am, I did all the exercises, and then chucked all the technical knowledge out the window because I got carried away by the jazz right before my final hand-in. It’s a very strange poem – quite unlike anything I’ve written in English – and the more I read it, the more I think it should be hidden in a drawer and never let out again.

Alright, maybe I’ll let it out once.

 

 

“Here I Love You” by Pablo Neruda

THE POETRY PLACE

Poema 18

Aquí te amo.
En los oscuros pinos se desenreda el viento.
Fosforece la luna sobre las aguas errantes.
Andan días iguales persiguiéndose.

Se desciñe la niebla en danzantes figuras.
Una gaviota de plata se descuelga del ocaso.
A veces una vela. Altas, altas, estrellas.

O la cruz negra de un barco.
Solo.
A veces amanezco, y hasta mi alma está húmeda.
Suena, resuena el mar lejano.
Este es un puerto.
Aquí te amo.

Aquí te amo y en vano te oculta el horizonte.
Te estoy amando aun entra estas frías cosas.
A veces van mis besos en esos barcos graves,
que corren por el mar hacia donde no llegan.

Ya me veo olvidado como estas viejas anclas.
Son más tristes los muelles cuando atraca la tarde.
Se fatiga mi vida inútilmente hambrienta.
Amo lo que no tengo. Estás tú tan distante.

Mi hastío forcejea con los lentos crepúsculos.

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#thoughts on Leaves of grass – Walt Whitman #amreading

Last night, in a fit of… well, no idea what you’d call it, I just couldn’t sleep cause of all the thoughts in my head…in a fit of sleeplessness (?), I lay in my bed and started reading Whitman’s Leaves of Grass. The version I have prides itself on including the original 1855 version of the text.

I didn’t get very far.

You know some days when you feel like all you want to do is have a good cry in someone’s arms? That’s how I felt – that’s what I did, minus the ‘in someone’s arms’ part. I’m not sure why I had such a strong reaction. To be honest, I don’t even remember what I read that triggered it all. It was just his opening lines about ‘I celebrate myself’ and then something about grass, then my perception and attention shifted to my own imagination and I couldn’t get out of it: laying in a field of green green grass beside her, with nothing but the sky and clouds to answer to. Sunlight warming – not burning –  skin, a gentle breeze caressing it.

I’m not sure exactly why that image was emblazoned in my brain or why it made me cry like it did. Maybe it’s my vision of ‘ultimate’ freedom.

Tomorrow (Wednesday December 7, 2016) I’ll know whether my heart can handle itself (literally). Whether I’ll be able to get rid of my heart machine without a transplant – or not. Tomorrow is a big day.

All I know, a field of grass has never been more important to me.

the lie of the happy mean: #thoughts

Do you talk too much?

You probably have an issue with not listening to others. You should talk less and take time to listen to what others have to say.

Do you talk too little?

Oh my, something must be wrong with you! You should talk more – you don’t express yourself enough.

Do you look at yourself in the mirror too long?

Well, you’re a narcissist. 

Do you avoid looking at yourself in the mirror?

Oh, well, you should be more confident.

Do you rely on others too much?

You should become more independent. Think for yourself.

Do you never accept help from others (even if you didn’t ask)?

You should stop being so proud and let others help you once in a while.

Are you too happy?

It’s impossible to be that happy all the time. What is wrong with you? Are you compensating for something? 

Are you too sad?

Stop feeling sorry for yourself – you should get help. 

————————————————————————–

I’m not saying that balance and harmony aren’t a wonderful thing (if and when you are able to achieve it) but trying to stay on the straight and narrow that is the range of socially ‘acceptable’ feelings and behaviours is maddening. Seriously. Kind of like that story about the farmer, his son, and the donkey. [the version I used to know was the farmer, his wife and the donkey, but that’s not the point]

Obviously, in certain cases, certain extremes of behaviour are best avoided and it does feel important to be open to interventions and help from others. But people – it seems – go to the other extreme. Being too much of anything freaks them out. And of course,  everyone’s a critic.

Of course, being me (the king of all excuses), I could link it back to our prejudices about…well… everything: being too fat; being too thin; being too calm; being too angry; being too childish; being too mature; being too confident; not being confident enough; being pushy; not being  assertive enough… it seems we struggle with just being, even if that means being on the edges.

Weirdly, for gender identity and sexual orientation, this battle of extremes has gone the other way: you were/are born either a man or  a woman (according to society). You could only be monogamous (again, according to society). You could only be attracted to men or to women, not both or neither. The whole grey area of human rights and LGBTQIA+ rights and the idea of having a spectrum defeats the whole point of polar opposites.

Yet the mainstream is fine with the boxes provided by the man – woman distinction. One of the most essential decisions about the self has been handed to a doctor and a paper pusher, in a process which (oddly?) makes me think they are cataloguing us like cattle.

However in everything else, we’re meant to keep to the (narrow, slippery) path of the ‘happy mean’. And then, once you’ve bought into this idea, you’re told that it’s important to go outside your comfort zone, to push yourself to the limit so you can ‘grow as a person’. In a society that tries to marginalise, oppress and undermine anything that isn’t ‘normal’.

Are you fucking kidding me?

[This is one of those blog posts where I started off with a completely different idea in mind and ended up somewhere else entirely.]