Not too long ago, I wrote this:
The poem above is called 'Waking From Everyday,' and naturally, because I'm somewhat horribly unlucky, I've returned to everyday again.
I know I'm being vague, but I really don't know to write about it outside my own poetry. You see, the problem with a blog post is that, unless you're good at, writing about your own life can easily slide into solipsism... What I mean is that I don't think telling anyone about myself would be particularly useful, even for me.
So what's the purpose of my blog? Is is just to share poetry? I really don't know. All I know is that I'm uncomfortable with writing about myself unless it can be useful... unless I'm saying something truthful.
Alright, let's give it a quick try:
I met a girl, I liked her, things worked, she had to leave the country.
I honestly don't know how to make that sound any more interesting? depressing? enlightening? than it already is. Should I write about our dates or something? Do I even remember the things we said to each other? All I know is that it was fun while it was fun and that's really is all there is to it?
I'm not particularly interested in making a tirade about my feelings (which is markedly different from how I normally write, I know). In any case- there's bigger fish to fry besides whether or not Skype is just as capable of facilitating interpersonal communication as a restaurant.
Exam season.
I kinda have no idea what to do with myself to be honest... and that was actually what I meant by 'everyday.' I don't know what to do about the near endless boredom of life and of people and of school and of...well, everyday. I'm still trying to decide whether or not losing the catalyst for my 'seeing the world in colour' is a ultimately a good thing or a bad thing. I mean, sure, a boring world is a boring world...it sucks. But at the same time it's reality, and it is never wise to run away from reality, even through poetry.
Admittedly said poetry is cheesy BS. But when you spend the greater part of your high school years wondering why you exist and if there's any point to anything, you'll honestly take what you can get. Luckily what I got was awesome. Unluckily, what I got had places to be.
Lol!
But I've got bigger fish to fry. I've got to study hard and get good grades so that I can get a scholarship that will allow me to... study hard and get good grades.
Wait, hol' up. Something's not quite right about that...
... and I can't quite put my finger on it.
Anyhow, to end off this post, my new favourite poem:
Take it as you wish: whomever, whenever... because I'm just an image standing besides an image of me, endlessly; everyday.
Who am I again?
P.S I'll write about it properly later or something. I'm just really lazy and tired and such and such and such and such and such...
...and such and such and such...
P.P.S I'm on Hello Poetry. It's awesome. (http://hellopoetry.com/tawandamulalu/)
P.P.P.S Yes, writing about, analyzing, and quoting from your own poetry is probably solipsism. Or if not directly is, then it's still irony in the context of this silly blog post. Sorry. :)
'The chords of your laughter, unexpected,
echo from the clouds above me
and scatter
like fragile light; dancing
across the green tips of grateful trees.
Briefly, I shuddered. Behind the bricked wall
of the cemented dreams I have of us-
I had head your little song of life.
But now I am smiling.
Your fragile light has made me grateful
to see the world in colour.'
 |
| A panel from 'Blue Is The Warmest Colour' by Julie Maroh...super worth reading. |
The poem above is called 'Waking From Everyday,' and naturally, because I'm somewhat horribly unlucky, I've returned to everyday again.
I know I'm being vague, but I really don't know to write about it outside my own poetry. You see, the problem with a blog post is that, unless you're good at, writing about your own life can easily slide into solipsism... What I mean is that I don't think telling anyone about myself would be particularly useful, even for me.
So what's the purpose of my blog? Is is just to share poetry? I really don't know. All I know is that I'm uncomfortable with writing about myself unless it can be useful... unless I'm saying something truthful.
Alright, let's give it a quick try:
I met a girl, I liked her, things worked, she had to leave the country.
I honestly don't know how to make that sound any more interesting? depressing? enlightening? than it already is. Should I write about our dates or something? Do I even remember the things we said to each other? All I know is that it was fun while it was fun and that's really is all there is to it?
I'm not particularly interested in making a tirade about my feelings (which is markedly different from how I normally write, I know). In any case- there's bigger fish to fry besides whether or not Skype is just as capable of facilitating interpersonal communication as a restaurant.
Exam season.
 |
| I really wish this actually existed. |
I kinda have no idea what to do with myself to be honest... and that was actually what I meant by 'everyday.' I don't know what to do about the near endless boredom of life and of people and of school and of...well, everyday. I'm still trying to decide whether or not losing the catalyst for my 'seeing the world in colour' is a ultimately a good thing or a bad thing. I mean, sure, a boring world is a boring world...it sucks. But at the same time it's reality, and it is never wise to run away from reality, even through poetry.
Admittedly said poetry is cheesy BS. But when you spend the greater part of your high school years wondering why you exist and if there's any point to anything, you'll honestly take what you can get. Luckily what I got was awesome. Unluckily, what I got had places to be.
Lol!
But I've got bigger fish to fry. I've got to study hard and get good grades so that I can get a scholarship that will allow me to... study hard and get good grades.
Wait, hol' up. Something's not quite right about that...
... and I can't quite put my finger on it.
Anyhow, to end off this post, my new favourite poem:
 |
| Also check out 'Summer Farm' by the same poet. |
Take it as you wish: whomever, whenever... because I'm just an image standing besides an image of me, endlessly; everyday.
Who am I again?
P.S I'll write about it properly later or something. I'm just really lazy and tired and such and such and such and such and such...
...and such and such and such...
P.P.S I'm on Hello Poetry. It's awesome. (http://hellopoetry.com/tawandamulalu/)
P.P.P.S Yes, writing about, analyzing, and quoting from your own poetry is probably solipsism. Or if not directly is, then it's still irony in the context of this silly blog post. Sorry. :)
