Poetry: Failure in Success?

Ridiculous thoughts either make for poetry or ridiculous thoughts. I have many of them and have taken to writing them down in the hopes that they're worth more than a piece of shit. I mean, here's to hoping right? But since my poetic thoughts are limited tonight to say the least, I'll simply share a poem from one of my favorite poets, Tony Hoagland.

Brave World

But what about the courage

of the cancer cell

that breaks out from the crowd

it has belonged to all its life

like a housewife erupting

from her line at the grocery store

because she just can't stand

the sameness anymore?

What about the virus that arrives

in town like a traveler

from somewhere faraway

with suitcases in hand,

who only wants a place

to stay, a chance to get ahead

in the land of opportunity

but who smells bad,

talks funny, and reproduces fast?

What about the microbe that

hurls its tiny boat straight

into the rushing metabolic tide,

no less cunning and intrepid

than Odysseus; that gambles all

to found a city

on an unknown shore?

What about their bill of rights,

their access to a full-scale,

first-class destiny?

their chance to realize

maximum potential? - which, sure,

will come at the expense

of someone else, someone

who, from a certain point of view,

is a secondary character,

whose weeping is almost

too far off to hear,

a noise among the noises

coming from the shadows

of any brave new world.

I don't regret things. I'm just not that type of a person. It's maddening. I mean, I don't need people. I don't even want them half the time! I can't fucking let go of the whole thing! And I hate that ever sentence until this one has started with and "I". Fuck! He's not even worth it. AT ALL. He is everything that is okay but not great. Why would I want him anyway? I'm not saying that I'm all that and a bag chips, but we were not compatible. I mean why dream, why stare, why think, why dwell on something was a headache and a half. I should have no regret. I think it is less regret for what I did and more a hope that things would have been different.

Fruitless but hopeful walks around the neighborhood looking for a '56 Chevy BelAir. Inane.

Those points of culmination in your life. When nothing in particular happens but you life just presents itself in front of you as if to say "So what do you think?". Why? I have so many neuroses and I don't even know how I got half of them. I don't tolerate that, I have to know why I feel the way I feel about everything. But why do I avoid so much? I avoid every deadline, every commitment, every judgment. Anything definite terrifies me and I haven't the slightest idea why. Other people can manage to get their shit together and face things head on. My life presented itself to me saying "you have no more pertinent homework, you don't want to work on anything else and you're not hungry and you don't want to go to bed, so now what?". How the fuck did I get like that?Why does the definition of my life lie in my bed between the hours of five and midnight? I feel like the Wizard of Oz only without the kickass special effects, I live life behind a curtain. The questions are: How did I get this way? Do I like it? Can I get out? And if so, How? I feel like a scratched CD that keeps skipping, you get the same thing over and over again in tiny increments. Sometime you get a little something new but then it just gets added to the recital. Points of culmination: wondering why do you hate school dances? why would you rather stay at home and watch tv? if you hate something, why don't you change it? I refuse to believe the reason is sheer laziness. So what? Fear? Is that it? Too many questions. Points of "oh shit" culmination.

Fuck life. For no other reason than there is no answer to it. Stop thinking about it. Just stop. It wastes brain power. What little we have. So just fuck it. I think it goes the best when you just stop thinking about it. Its central to our existence and yet it is so big the only way we can deal with it is just to push it to the roadside and pretend its not there. Fuck life.

Misanthrope.

What dumbass, single, miserable, lonely, fucktard invented bros before hoes?

A very wise one I am sure. But I, at times, hate the rule. I shall stick to it because it shows good moral fiber. Siiiiiiiiiggggggghhhhhhhh. You may pronounce that how you will.

Do you ever think about how life is nothing coherent. Like really, it isn't. It just a bunch of flashes and images, and things that translate into ideas and feelings. And so many rules that have been made up to govern society. Who made them? Have you ever stopped to wonder why things are the way they are? So many of the rules are pointless. Like think about that space in between dreams and consciousness when nonsensical things are fact. I always think that's where true creativity comes from. That where the truth lies. No made up rules that we didn't agree to. Just the truth of the universe intruding upon your conscious. If we can tune the world out for long enough, make it shut up for just long enough, you can hear it sometimes. You can see the truth that nothing is important. Nothing is what you think it is. That is a different universe locked up inside every person's mind. That everything you think you know is wrong or is just the beginning of some incomprehensible truth. What is life? It's what you make it. What if you didn't follow any of the rules. Barring murder other crimes: why would people care? What right would they have to care? It is so difficult to be yourself simply because the world is not you. And that big fake world out there keeps intruding upon the real one in your head. You can't block it out. But what if. What if I could truly explain my thoughts? If you understand, you do. If not there is no way I can make you understand because it's something so abstract and vast that it cannot be put into words. I am only able catch glimpses of it. And yet, the most disappointing part it that even I'm starting to understand bits of this I doubt that it will have an effect on the way I carry out my life. Maybe. I can't feel the truth in what I'm writing. Maybe I'm not supposed to. That's probably the point. It's too much. If I could feel the truth in this, it would mean that I grasped it all. And in order to do that I would most likely not be of this world.

Tonight, I went out and buried a broken plate with a note.

Seven

I tried to do this last night but my mother came in and reprimanded me for something ridiculous.  So yes...That is why I have been gone for over seven months. Yes, wow it sounds a lot longer when you have to count it out. Its good and bad probably that I have not been here. Even if I had dared come back to this before now I don't know if I would have had the time. Anyway, you have missed what I would consider to be the worst seven months of my life. Here's to hoping that we can round it out to a whole year! Sorry for the cynicism. Apparently it's one of more prevelant character traits. I will not go into all the self-pittying details of this past school year. I will round it up saying that I feel as though I have failed at everything I have attempted. I know I could get all philosophical and say that a true failure is one where you never try in the first place. Well that's very nice for the greek philosophers to say: they're in the history books and revered throughtout history. That sounds like a success if you ask me. So I'm back. Yes. Yes, I am. So here's to hoping that this summer is everything I need it to be. I think I have something like twenty days of school left. So yes... can't come soon enough. And as to the new layout, I figured I wanted to start being happier my layout had to reflect it.