As of December 10 2008

Poetry cannot be summed up or defined, it is too broad and open to be kept in constraints. Poetry and constraints don’t even belong in the same sentence because poetry defies constraints. It is the most socially acceptable way to break out of the norm. Poets are known as crazy. Not that anyone but a poet could begin to define crazy. However as a poet, I will eagerly claim insanity.

Words are a never ceasing journey, and once poetry has the poet, and the poet has poetry, they have entered a whirl wind love affair that will be full of it’s ups, downs, separations, doubts, and moments of absolute bliss. The relationship will never make sense or be understood in any explainable way but it will be of the utmost significance. It could last for life, or it could end abruptly. Either way the result will be lasting on the poet, and lasting on poetry. For every hand that has ever held a pen and let another move it for them, has put a dent in this vast, ever changing idea.

This is poetry for me. Our relationship is new and old, still growing, flourishing and becoming ever more exciting. Writing is my sanctuary keeping me sane, it is also my flaming sword of protest and change. It speaks, yelling, screaming, circling around that subconscious idea until it has inadvertently struck and its audience is given a broader look at things, or a new perspective.

Every poem I write is a piece of my soul, sometimes extracted with much pain. Once on paper it has become its own separate entity, yet still part of my soul. I launched it out there in the universe as soon as my fingers hit the keyboard, or my pen hit the page, and people can embrace it or destroy it. In the same sense, either embracing or destroying me. Yet at the same time, my poetry is not me. It is not even related to me. The Sally whose words fall on paper, and the Sally whose words are lost in the air are not the same Sally, though they share the same mind and physical body. I can see myself losing the reader at this point in my nonsensical logic, but never the less it is logic.

Poetry cannot exist without logic. Logic drives poems. Something has to keep the words going, flowing, ebbing, moving. That is the job of logic in poetry, it motivates; whether subconsciously or blatantly, it is there in the words, the sound or the form. I can really only speak for my poetry, but this is also how I see poetry on a whole, this is my manifesto. Nothing else so creative could ever be so brimming with fact, and be used as such a burning form of propaganda, than poetry.

Then there is sound. Here I really speak for no one else but myself. Sound is one form of logic, and sound is the logic I personally prefer. Nothing makes more sense than sound. Sounds can speak for themselves without any clearly defined meaning behind them. Sounds are powerful. With sound a scream is as loud as a whisper. There are sounds that are comforting, and sounds that are unsettling. The sound that settles my soul may not settle the soul of my neighbor, it may in fact have them leaping from their bed and running out into the night in terror. In either case it impacts. There is no sound in the world that doesn’t impact. Every sound no matter how simple holds meanings, thoughts and memories that are associated with the sound. There are similarities for people in these meanings, and there are differences. Sound meanings are subconscious and complex. Rarely can one explain why a particular sound makes them think of what it does. In this way sound is almost more powerful than words, and written word is probably the best way to communicate anything, besides perhaps with silence.

My poetry is laden with sound. Sound is my logic, my brain thinks in sound. Through my poetry my sound should speak gabbing the reader, the sound telling one story, the words another, and together they combine for the full meaning.

When reading poetry an open mind must be kept. All stereotypes and preconceived ideas about right and wrong should be forgotten and nothing but the poem should be thought of. Such a work deserves the full undivided attention of the world. So slyly poetry hides before the world realizes it has dug in its teeth, pointed out every worldly flaw and embraced it. Each poem as different as the thumb print and personality of each person, nothing is ever the same. Just as everything, is always changing.

Hypocrisy

I am but a person, surrounded by other persons and people I do not even know. I watch these figures from my seat on my foreign bed out my window that gives me an aerial view that is fantastically beautiful, which I enjoy yet hate all the same. You can’t help but wonder about these people, and them as persons, and you as a person. The mystery. People. So completely and utterly unusual which is the most usual of all and it makes sense that nothing makes sense at all.

Sparkle sparkle glinting in the sun, as beautiful as you are I’d like to rip you down. I am not ready for all the gay festivity. Hand me my camera and let me take the world by storm, let me explore, let me exploit and continue to seek non-existent understanding about people as persons and how I myself fit into what I inevitably am.

Follow the joy which is never the same. The thousand suns of joy and the thousand grounds of black and blissful unhappiness. Let the wonderment continue and statements be taken as questions. Find ways to build yourself up by wearing that clinging top, butt-complimenting jeans or stunning red high heels that hurt your feet but you wish were comfortable because they make you feel amazing.

Make yourself feel amazing. You deserve to feel amazing and you are the only person who is ever going to be able to compliment you like that. Don’t seek the approval of others because they are not you, they are not the same persons, their minds work in different ways and don’t even try to understand what that is because you know you don’t understand how yours works anyway and that is the only one you ever had a chance of figuring out in the first place.

Fall to cravings and impulses but learn to hold strong when your brain and your gut tell you no. And in theory not even when your brain tells you no but just when your gut confirms that you should do what you are about to do or not do what you think you ought to do. Somehow your gut knows more than the rest of your freakish senses combined. You really almost don’t even need your head. What good does it do you anyway?

Listen to these words I am not saying to you but my eyes speak. I know you will always misconstrue them, as you misconstrue all that my body speaks. You will never understand me and that person doesn’t exist I am somehow just that odd and unintentionally that non-conforming to the rest of what is perceived to be usual or common for people to be persons and have similar desires, needs, wants and ways of retaining all of that.

I’ll simply just stretch my sore arms out long while sprawled out on my back, the wood railing hitting my shoulders as my mind contemplates all that I see and spins in foggy circles.

There is not enough I can write on all the topics popping into my head, not enough that I contemplate clearly and coherently (if such a thing truly exists). I can spit out on my theories on humanity and our ways and how what we construe as abnormal is really more normal that we think normal is, and how our words can change meaning without meaning them too, all because we do not have the same minds. We try to be one, we rely on one another to be whole, but really we are all tiny specs completely unrelated trying to force something that can never be there but we trick ourselves into thinking it can be. Yet we all float about in space only gravity attaching our feet to what we seem to walk upon if walking is really what we are doing at all. And here I am referring to people as one single entity. When of course I just got threw saying that is not so.

And I stick by all my words.

Everything I say I believe is true, unless I am lying, which I will honestly say I sometimes do. Which just increases the hypocrisy I am encased in that seems to surround every single being in humanities vast races. Lies, everyone hates lies but everyone has lied. Anyone that says differently is lying. But really what is lying? Only mentally changing a known truth to more people that those that have created the said lie. And I know now you, the reader, yes I have been talking to you this whole damn time, incase you hadn’t managed to fucking figure that out, think that I am crazy now. But you really don’t know what crazy is. No one knows what all these inane words we constantly use to attempt communication (whether or not it is really necessary) really mean. Hell even the meaning of meaning could be anything. You only think you know what I mean with all these characters purposefully placed in specific order but really only I know what I kind of sort of think I am trying to mean? Or do I?

Music makes the most sense of everything. Even if I am incapable of making it, just listen to the sounds. Sounds sounds sounds sounds! Explain everything! They explain all we see, wonder about, want to write about because it is already written and make to sound and is probably as close to coherence as it would be possible to get.

The way the sunlight hits that one strip of grass. I am at the point where I feel like I can’t even use words anymore because these characters no longer mean anything but that is all I know how to do and all you know how to comprehend so I will carry on and begin, finally begin, keeping up with my so called none sense that I can just see you shaking your head at and correcting my grammar, punctuation and sentence structure even though I meant it to be exactly this way. Fuck you and your rules!

Your damn rules and confinements and you don’t even know anymore than I do. Why do I have to do what you say I should do? Why do your words mean more that mine? They are all the same just arranged differently. There is even the possibility that mine are more numerous than yours.

Fuck you and your stupid conventions. You don’t know why we use them either and there is nothing stopping me from writing like this. Nothing stopping me from speaking like this. So who are you to tell me what is incorrect or wrong. How do you even know what that is? You don’t. I know you don’t, because I don’t and you don’t actually know anymore than me.

This is probably the part of this that makes the most sense to you. But it shouldn’t be. Just so you know what is in my head does not match up with how I expect you to perceive these characters in all their full printed, and blasphemous glory.

I am almost trying to confuse you but really I want it to make sense, I want you think about what I am talking about as if I am right and you are wrong (in the commonly thought of sense of those two words).

Trying to Maintain Faith in Reason

Why is it that humanity is always searching for better? Wanting more?

When we do get something we want, we are satisfied for a moment, and then we want something else. We never seem to be grateful to have what we do have in our lives. It seems to be the curse of our species.

There has to be a purpose for it though. Perhaps it is what gives us the drive to keep living. Wanting something gives us something to work for, which would be why, once you get it, you have to start wanting something else.

But it is also quite annoying to so rarely have that super pleasant feeling of satisfaction. Instead you are filled with constant anxiety over whatever it is that you want! And sometimes, what you unintentionally narrowed in on isn’t even something you want to want, or could even get.

Maybe we unintentionally find ourselves wanting what we don’t want to want, or can’t have because there is a higher force in the universe trying to tell us something. Or maybe it is because it will keep us motivated to keep living longer, even though we know we can never have whatever it is, we let ourselves be filled with hope that maybe we are wrong.

I keep trying to believe that everything happens for a reason, and Fate is behind all the workings, good and bad. But I sometimes do not understand the motivation behind what Fate does. I am sure there is a reason for everything, but sometimes I would just like to know what that is? The reason that I can’t have some of the things I want, even if I know I’ll never be able to keep them for forever.