Poetry

There are a lot of things that make me upset, a flaw that tends to impede my progress through life in general, but I’m trying to work on it.
Something that makes me really anxious is that I like to write a lot of poetry, but because I’m not some legendary poet, none of it is read by anyone except the magazine staff and the judges of the paltry few contests that I enter. I’m not saying that I deserve the same amount of recognition as say, Allen Ginsberg or Mark Strand, but it’s just seems like a waste of my time to write and then let it rot away in my computer. I guess I’m culpable of sounding like just another maudlin, angsty teenage poet, but I can’t help it.
At the same time, there are poets who probably deserve recognition just as much as many of the eminent writers of our day, but are unable to achieve it because of the way that fame and the writing industry work. Publishers may be chary of taking a risk on an up-and-coming poet because of the limited audience - most of the public is disinterested in reading poetry. Additionally, poetry is usually only published in book format with many different works from one person or a compilation of many poets. Some writers maybe have not written a book’s worth of poetry, and compilations tend to be hard to get into. These factors assimilate into a cycle that I honestly don’t know how to be broken besides spending an inordinate amount of time exhorting everyone into loving and buying multiple poetry books regardless of how famous the writer started out as.
Perhaps I should invest in a brainwashing device.

Early Morning Songs

This is going to make me sound like some insane eccentric who perhaps has ben under the influence of certain illegal substances, but rest assured, only the eccentric part is applicable.
Almost every sound I hear is imbued with a certain image or a specific feeling in my head. A lot of them I can't eve describe because they just are what they are. My friend Naomi and I were discussing that maybe this is a form of synesthesia, where there's a crossover of senses so that one hears colors or tastes sound, but she told me that real synesthesia is a lot more overwhelming. Once she had met a girl at camp who had real synesthesia who had said that she couldn't even go to concerts because it was such a sensory overload. Even people's names had some implicit value that gave them a certain color or taste. Her life is like a permanent crescendo of feelings. She said that she wishes it had an "off" button.

Sometimes I can't listen to certain songs because they make me feel empty and vacuous, like I'm about to implode. I call these early morning songs because they remind me of when I used to swim and I would have to wake up at 4:00 in the morning to get to a meet and I would just sit there in the car, paroxysms of nerves sweeping around through me. Even if there's nothing in the lyrics that are off, there's just something about the tone or the chords that just feels wrong.

Save the boat

I wish I could hold everything in abeyance, just stop time and hold it like a glass globe in the palm of my hand. I could be the omnipotent god staring in and I could change everything with the flick of finger.

I don't know. I'm just sick of this constant transience even though it seems like nothing ever changes. I'm sick of school and it's only been five weeks. I'm sick of all the work that has commandeered my time and is forcing me to declare war. I want to hold time in the palm of my hand and expand it so that I can devote some more minutes to the upkeep of my sanity.

Every single sentence I have just written started with "I." I feel selfish and whiny writing a blog about how tired I am, and this is the exact antipode of what I set out to write. But this is what I wrote. I can't even begin to comprehend writing anything else but what is oozing down from my brain and out of my fingers at this moment. I wish I could summon up some more brio for my first blog, but this isn't the time for it.

Maybe I'll change this later; I don't want my first blog to be this whiny.

[I hope you enjoy my metaphor in comic form. You might have to click on it because my handwriting isn't really that clear. Also, please note this is the reason why I don't plan on becoming an artist.

Disclaimer: I don't really think of school as a pirate. This was only for comedic value. I am not actually insane nor do I feel that school is directly equatable to pirates because pirates do horrible things that schools do not.]

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