I owe poems: 16 April 2014

Another fear poem about love #2

I am sorry. You are too much it is great and I hope that I don't disappoint. I can't control. I'm not a lover. I am lovely and broken. Too many things to talk about. It's disjointed. So I let you know in advance. I'm nice but I'm afraid of my broken shards will cut your gentle heart.

National Poetry Month #NPM Poem #3

  Today's poem is topical
It is timely
  I wrote it on time
  I'm still rushing it though
  I think about my obligations
 My denial of reality
 The important things that I have to do
 It frustrates me
 I wonder how the greats did it?
 Where did they find, steal, get the time?
 Did they diddle at the office?
 How did they work and write?
 How was their mind occupied?
 Was it occupied by the capitalist economy?
  Did they fight against their boss's driving need?
  How did sensitive souls survive the 20th Century?
 Can I survive the 21st?
  Perhaps I need to think of my voice as essential
  My work can't remain dormant in my brain
  I have to work for the creative life being stamped out and shoved around
  The poor economy strangles our dreams, for fear that only "real work" pays
  Our lives are commodity, we are labor inputs in the factory economy
   Industrialized, Extra-strength, Scientifically Tested, Originals
   This is good right? The marketing speak? The uniquely western jargon that
    sells lots and keeps us 
     coming to work, and coming to the stores. Products we can be proud of.
    We think
    But what if the black box of labor and work, corrupts the inputs?
    What if daily use for hours weakens the source material?
     What if flawed labor inputs, leads to flawed products,
   and then it all starts to break down?
   But the internal structural integrity of my labor unit is considered unessential
  As long as the majority of what is needed for work is there
  We can't halt the economy just because you feel bad, feel broken.
   Psyche is not quantifiable, if you are truly maladjusted take a pill
   Absolutely no days off, Showing up is half the battle
   Get some productivity in. Don't be weak.
   And yet, no one analyzes the soul crush responsibility of the black box
   See the way my work is structured . . .
   May be untenable for my health but
  Bob is persevering, nay, thriving. He hits his sales goals
  Professor Olino can keep up with the crushing publishing race
  Well clearly these college students are the best of the best with their unbelieveable resumes
   Unbelievable resumes. Incredible Achievements.
    Perhaps that is the goal.
  Every 4 years, the Olympics come around to remind us that
  It is not enough to be your country's best, or to be among the best in the world
  What truly matters is that you are 1 of the 3 out of 100s.
   The super human of the super humans. For those are the only ones who truly matter.
  Who am I, mere mortal, who needs breaks, gets bored, feels weary.
   Dare I call the work of the gods, mind-numbing, dull, reptitive?
  Don't knock the structure, how could you dare? They let you know
 "clearly with your work ethic you could never build anything this great"
  And that is their mythos, that this grinding pressure, this fierce competition
  That is the primarily evil broth that gave birth to our society's best achievements.
  But that, would be a lie.


Poem: "Apex Hides the Hurt" (But why do you hurt? Ah, that's your personal problem, we have a mass-solution to fix each of them).
Author:

Poem #2 National Poetry Month, #NPM

Okay I'll admit
This is a hack job
But I cannot quit
I promised I would
I promised I would
write and create
something
at least something
So here the driving need pushes me to the edge.
Well, I should be writing a critical book review
So there's that
that alternate nagging in my mind.
I'm not a slacker, just allergic to deadlines.
Perpetual Learner, Consistent Worker.
I cannot stick to one project.
This limited society won't let me be the polymath I want to be
Free Creative Me!
Free Creative Me!

Poem: Creative Workers Revolution
Author:

Fear

I think a lot about my fears, things that worry me. Make me afraid. I like Marc Maron because he talks about that in his standup. Actually a of comedians talk about fears, but generally it is debunking social fears. Collective fears of the populace, or the government.

Many comedians will throw in their vulnerabilities but I think the 21st century has a new brand of comedian. The identity specialist.

These comedians talk about their own personal fears and ideas of the world. They essentially built a cult of personality based on people who feel kinship to their world view.

Two come to mind: Aziz Ansari, Mike Birbiglia. They both not only talk about their personal joys, and hang-ups but also candidly reveal their relationships struggles. Not as a caricature but as themselves. Not as an everyman but as themselves and then asks the audience if they can relate to their very real personal struggles and heartbreaks.


This is great art.

Thinky Pain, Writing, and Being Weird.

I was going to comment on Marc Maron's latest stand-up on Netflix, "Thinky Pain" but I actually haven't finished it. I just love the title. As someone who has had bouts of depression and an overactive anxious mind I realize that phrase really encapsulates the struggle of an artist. We feel too much, think too much. Other people have normal issues, we have thinky pain.

Thinky pain is what causes artists to take drugs to try and control the mechanism of inspiration. Because that mechanism is painful, it hurts as it makes you remember things you don't want to remember or makes odd connections to things in everyday life and you wonder, "Am I the only one who sees this?" " Does this even make sense?"

But is it is the artist's view and interpretation that begets art that causes self-reflection in the viewer, the audience. We release our strange ideas and concepts on the world. And the world assents that we have spoken truth. Or the world decries our odd-view. For some artists, it takes time for the world to recognize the truth of what we have realized and revealed through our art.


Philip K. Dick comes to mind. Almost all painters, visual artists. The truth is that the greatest parts of society don't pay very well. At least not in this modern economy. All those we revered in the past would not hack it today.

But back to the "thinky pain", a lot of people don't take mental health seriously enough. Doesn't matter who you are, what age or gender. If you take care of your body, take care of your mind. Make sure your coping mechanisms are healthy and rational.  Find someone you trust to talk you through your troubles and if necessary, take your meds. 

a poem on: the inevitability of adulthood

young boys become young men shouldering responsibility.

young men become just men.

youth filling out with the maturity of age.

 It is more than just the physical growth. Aging.

I am in awe at the imperceptible, spiritual transformation

To see the change in demeanor that wisdom brings

The change in stature from self-confidence, awareness

Experience shows on the face and body of each one.

 I sigh. Life is less forgiving as we move from youth to adulthood

Some men show signs of stress, mistakes of youth haunt their face

Others grow old clinging to the follies of youth,
pushing away maturity in hope of a peter pan existence

Lost Boys inside old men

Others transition more easily, having had mentors, parents, and siblings to guide their steps.

I wonder how they make their way, each day. boys, to youth, to men.

A moment of "selfish" reflection

I am coming back to my blog. I think I have the inspiration to really write about my musings. I feel self-centered sharing my thoughts but I have realized that talking is how we understand each other. My physical silence mirrors my creative silence.

Enough is enough. It is time to speak, time to exorcise the demons of insecurity, self-loathing, and doubt. I am excited to begin a new chapter in my life. Nothing right now is how it was imagine in my head three years ago before I started law school. My warm rosy fantasy has once again been plunged in the cold depths of reality.

I hope that 2013 will begin the slow, unattractive building of a life that leads to glory. It is never the rocket trajectory that the hindsight-biased, neat, made for TV magazine story paints it to be. Glory comes in the dark moments when you feel like collapsing under the weight of your sorrow and it seems you've failed again. Glory comes from pushing forward with hope even when the way ahead looks dark.

One thing that is a credo in my life, an unshakable principle, is that surviving is its self success. To be alive is a victory on its own. Laurence Gonzalez book "Deep Survival: Who lives, Who dies and Why" has underscored that point to me.

Apathy makes us resent existence and the dull, comfortable passing of each day. Apathy comes from a life without risk. Another principle I have learned is that without risk there is no reward. Risk doesn't have to be reckless, it just means that you have to have "skin in the game", that you are putting something of yourself at a risk of loss. That loss could be anything from emotional vulnerability with a family member or actual money to finance a dream.


I pray that we can all learn to risk wisely.