For the text: “Pillow Thought”
For the text: “Pillow Thought”
It’s come to my attention (rather recently, in fact) it is the popular opinion that I am considered by many to be a ‘dark-side’ writer. You might have figured out by now that I’m not one to let thoughts go lightly, so I’ve been allocating some headspace to this one. I’m a little surprised that I’m believed to be so shadowy. Most who meet me in person during my day-to-day comment on how cheerful, light, and funny I come across. Let’s delve into a public analysis, shall we?
It’s true that I don’t shy away from darkness. Why would I? Some of my most potent emotions and ideas are born in the realm of the unseen. They very word ‘dark’ implies a sense of mystery and the unknown—stuff that is difficult to make out. Existing solely under the bulb of an omnipresent illuminator strikes me as an incredibly boring way to live. Beauty is cached everywhere. This is true for the things we can’t (or don’t want to) look toward for inspiration.
Darkness is the uncharted. We who examine it are Old World explorers, tracing out the coastline of a foreign and foreboding across-the-sea continent. We stray far from home, and often wager much to do so—sometimes we may even lose our way. We press on, though, always seeking to uncover the ripe, aromatic bodies of the fresh and the new. These are invaluable commodities to us. They are the currency of raw experience, unfiltered and unabashed.
Writing about love, hope, and inspiration are all wonderful endeavors. In fact, we need those touchstones to which to return after our sojourns into the wild. We may spend years feeling out the black, but we make our homes under the rejuvenating glow of the sun, where we recharge our psyches as we prepare to set out again.
‘Going dark’ is about expansion—it’s about regularly embracing concepts and feelings that most people would rather avoid. I don’t believe there’s much to be learned from living in comfort and ease. All that is lit is already known; it has already been explored. Anguish and discomfort are poignant instructors from whom we learn to grow as humans. When we are content, our primary concerns generally center around remaining content. This is a kind of pleasant stagnation. We don’t feel the need to better ourselves, because we’re all right where we are. If that works for you, I think it’s marvelous. It doesn’t work for me. I am constantly driven to push beyond what I already am.
I write not just to communicate. I write to expand—to discover more about myself, the world, and my relation to the others caught within this deafening wind storm. Sometimes that means diving blindly into the night. And, sometimes it works.
For the text: ‘Flightless Birds & Fireballs’
Somehow, the link to this recording got lost in the shuffle. Thought I’d post it again.
Mumbling into a microphone from yours truly.
Plucking Strings (text)
Friends, Enemies, Frenemies,
I’ve been a little backed up lately—speaking metaphorically, not literally. While settling into my new role as a member of Sudden Denouement, I’ve taken on (what seems to me like) a massive amount of community involvement. I’m rather unaccustomed to it. If I’ve appeared quieter than usual, the former accounts for a large part of the reason. It’s fantastic to interact with so many like minds on a regular basis; I’m still figuring out how to assimilate this new interaction into my routine so’s I can get back to writing, which is why I’m ultimately here.
My depression is another titanic contributor. Now, I’m well-versed in the prose of depression and I don’t use that word lightly, or to describe anything other that what it actually means. Depression isn’t sadness, general malaise, or listlessness—those things are side-effects of a greater condition. Depression is a galloping lava floe—one that we all must ride when it comes for us. We have to float it, kayak it, and keep from being burnt and utterly encased until it gets to where it’s going, cools, solidifies, and allows us to dismount so we may return to our regular lives. I would say that I’m about three-fourths of the way through this one.
Well, that’s it. I just wanted to tune in with anyone who might be listening on the same frequency and apprise you of my situation. You’ve probably seen more social media links appearing on my page, which I encourage you to follow if you enjoy anything my blog has to offer. I’m working on new poems and developing fresh outlets, which I hope will manifest themselves in time.
Loving you all. I wish you the best year ever… in the entire plane of the history of mankind. I mean it.
I’ve just uploaded a reading of my poem, “A Book for David” on SoundCloud. Play here, play there, or play nowhere at all.
The year ends, and so also ends this black-checkered composition book I’ve been scribbling in. Coincidence that the final page is filled on the last evening? Maybe my subconscious drove me to it.
Either way, I am still here—still writing, though you may not know it. I hope that what I have produced is meaningful and satisfying for you. I write for me, but also for you.
I want to thank you all for bearing with me this year. It’s a doozy for the record books, I think. Your readership, love, and support has gotten me through many more difficult days and nights than you will ever know. You have given me a reason. For that, I thank you.
Here’s to fresh starts and bold undertakings.
A four-month space.
Same ratty college sweatshirt.
Same shitty room.
Same camera lens.
Same human being?
My recent silence has been caused by a fundamental reexamination of both myself and my blog—what purpose I want the two of us to accomplish together. It has been a semi-productive reflective exercise, and I think I might have shaken a few buttons loose and stitched a hole or two back together.
I’m steering this rusty tub in a different direction.
My primary focus here is poetry. I may dabble in short fiction, but stories are something you sit down to read, not posts you flip through on your phone before work. I’ll still extend thoughts (like this) from time to time; it’s fun for me—I hope it is for you. I’m only changing my approach.
Quality and purity: that’s where we’re going. Sometimes, I’ve been known to blow my nose onto a piece of paper and call it poetry. It might be poetry, but it may very likely be just an uncontrolled expulsion of repulsive bodily humors. Who’s to say?
So, I’m going to cinch things up. I’ll likely post less often, but what I do post will be fully revised and edited. We (my blog and I) will endeavor to better ourselves for you (the ambiguous “you” that is the Internet). You are why we maintain this place, after all.
Can you live with that?