e.e., Willie, and Me

For our Analysis of Literary Forms class we've had to read a wide variety of very interesting pieces. Some of the most prominent in my mind are e.e. cummings and William Faulkner. Both of these writers were largely modernist in their style and composition, emphasizing free verse and stream of conscious quite frequently. And it is because of these two greats that I find myself doing this:

"These, Thoughts"

11/16/09

Do you love me more than these?

My mind

A vagabond

Roman, circus, or not

No home

[So many]

Just thoughts

[So many]

Wanderer

My mind

[So many]

thoughts thoughts thoughts thoughts fill my head

build build build control my mind sway me away from the

true path

[truth proven in vulnerable

forced to understand truth

broken till belief]

Then I hear—

Do you love me more than these?

Hesitation

Do you love me more than these?

Perhaps

Do you love me more than these?

Yes. Now, body, act.

God helps those who help

Others

I realize the brackets are very e.e cummings, but they really seem to set the text apart in a way that parentheses, italics, bold, all caps can't. And I think it's really important for the bracket portions to be separated.

Anyway, it's been a while since I've posted, and even longer since I've posted creativity, so I'm going to put one more up. This is a few months old, but still one of my favorites...maybe I'll put two.

"A Cigarette With God"

9/25/09

Does it hurt? I don’t

‘no.’

Confusion-delusion profuses

And the noose is

…not mine.

Hands in the air

With everybody else staring at me

There’s more rope if you wanna go…

Not mine.

And that’s where I struggle.

That’s where I hurt.

Where this heart screams that instead I

Take the noose!

And hang the emotions!

Fuck my heart!

I can survive

I can live

I’ll be OK!

And Norah calms me

“Something has to make you run…”

My feet are tired

They hurt

I need new shoes because these ones

Are worn

And sole-less

Thank God I’m not soulless with my

Feet on gravel

Blood

Crimson

Raw

Bones

And I’m tired.

Should I worry?

Do I dare?

My heart is bare from all these cares

And the cost of these fairs is so great my rhymes even fucking annoy me!

“All

This

Uselessness

I

Write”

Leave me on the tile

“emptiness”

Longing for

“Distractions.”

And finding God silent.

Leisure strolls with fear in tow.

Finding God waiting.

Smoking His last cigarette.

Where were You?

I felt You.

I saw You.

Knew You.

But couldn’t hear You.

“WAIT.”

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

Are You annoyed?

Are you?

Cause I am!

Then He passed me His last

And taught me to relax

Taught me to calm the storms of my

Capsized, bleeding ship now floating

Where were You?

Where were You?

I was here.

I AM here all along.

I know. But where were You?

Silent. Does that bother you?

And then my turn…

I trust

And I wait

That one is what spurred on my recent post entitled "The 'Fuck' I'm Talking About".

I really enjoy it because it accurately shows my struggle at that time. And I think it is so beautiful. Sorry if any are offended (by either the f-word, or the image of God smoking [see The Fray's song "You Found Me"])

"Table"

9/15/09

Quiet night

Darkest liquid calm my nerves

I feel I am the only

One of my kind

Alone

Solitary

Table as my company

No kings or rich man can compare

Try, electric generators if you dare but

I know I am

Alone

Failed metaphors of poet’s past

May tempt my mind to ease

There is no one like

Me

We

Are alone

To hoard and store, few can compare

To this “fair” price we fare for our

Transgressions?

Nay, for our hope.

Ha ha ha!

Hope!

Thanks be to God for my hope!

This gift that I must hold for now

To save bestow for someone grand

But hold it close, keep it tight!

For hope will give me life…

And where does this hope lead?

This special hope bleed?

To love

Thanks be to God for my love

This gift I must hold for now

To save bestow—

Crimson

Clover

Crowded heart

Claustrophobia

I hold so much in my heart so much passion emotions love and I’m not sure what to do with it I don’t see a drain for my relief or a leak to release this swelling and so it builds builds builds builds builds and I am left to hold it with nowhere to put it no one to share it and you can’t see my pain you can’t understand…

And I don’t know why we’re alone

Or what great sins we to atone,

I only know that I have love

And not a way to rid me of—

These quiet nights

Downtown

Coffee shop

Table for one, please.

These are seriously my three favorite poems I've written this year. I think they are so progressive and show so much of my development as a writer and poet. They really are the essence of my recent poet-identity-crisis (see...oh I haven't written a blog about that yet...hm), my experimentation because of that dilemma, and the changes that have been happening in my life this semester.

Too much good stuff.

As always, thanks for reading.

That hourly prayer...

God I ask for strength...

I ask for confidence...

I ask for comfort...

I ask for peace...

And I ask for wisdom...

Steady my heart, Lord

So be it.

Check the Cards in My Back Pocket

My mom said something interesting to me the other day.

"Nathan, you don't just keep your cards close to your chest, you hide them."

I responded by pointing at my sleeve, "You see that? You see that? That's a rock. Not because it really is, but because I tell you it is."

I know I have a problem. A problem many people may think is not that bad. I don't like to admit my feelings or present myself in a way that my feelings (whether romantic or otherwise—annoyance, anger, depression) are evident. Only recently (the last few weeks) have I begun to acknowledge outwardly as well as inwardly that I have problems, that I have issues that are important.

I don't know how to deal with this problem. I feel awkward, I feel selfish when I talk about my problems. The only times I do are when I can't take it anymore (see U2's "I know I'll go crazy if I don't go crazy tonight" song...whatever the title is) or when I'm asked more than twice "What's up?"

"Hey wanna listen to me spill my guts about my problems?" sounds selfish. To me, it is selfish. (insert chuckle here) Yet, I constantly implore others for their issues, I am constantly trying to aid others and help them through their problems, in showing them love—in bending over backwards to love on them so that they feel safe and comforted. I can't help it, it's what I'm about. And if it kills me (which I think it slowly is) at least God will be happy I'm loving and my friends will be happy that they're no longer hurting. Is there relief in that? Is there some sort of "pouring back in" from all the pouring out I do? Yeah... Is it enough? I don't think so. I love to help. Every other week I look forward to Sack Lunch Ministries. I find relief there, there is a release of my pain when I'm with those people, when I feel that I'm doing good.

Last night I lay in bed and asked God, "What am I moving towards? What can be so amazing, so awe-inspiring, that it is worth all this pain?" I lied to myself and said there could be nothing that great. But deep inside I'm still, in part, an idealist, a romantic. And today it was echoed by a very good friend, "There is no 'probably' or 'sure.' Something great is coming. Something amazing is out there." I love her. She's such a good friend.

So, if you ever want to actually see what color that heart I like to say is a rock on my sleeve is, just check my back pocket, or ask three times—it builds so much, there's no way I'll be able keep it in with that kind of probing. Or if you think I'm selfish too, just come tell me your problems. I'd honestly love to hear them.

As always, thanks for listening—er, reading.

The 'Fuck' I'm Talking About

I called my mom once and said, "This is one of those conversations that starts, 'don't freak out'."

This is one of those blogs that starts, "If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me."

I am a Christian.

I believe in God Almighty as the ultimate creator and all-powerful Father of all.

I go to a Christian college and pray multiple times a day.

I delve into the word of God multiple times a week.

I dive into the mind of God as often as I can on walks where I pray out loud and feel free to say whatever I want.

And I mean whatever.

When I go on walks I say things I would never say to anyone else. I am completely open and transparent with God and it manifests itself in honesty.

Good, right?

I agree.

But when you think honesty do you think: "damn", "bitch", "bastard", "shit", "fuck"?

I am a writer.

I am an artist by heart.

I am always happy and excited to enjoy another artist's art whether it be words like my own or photography or some other visual art.

I have been called a modernist which in some respects means I am a fan of l'art pour l'art or "art for art's sake."

I agree with this definition of myself.

I was once asked by one of my favorite professors, "As a writer and lover of the English language, you must agree that there is a time for cussing?"

I do.

I feel that language is amoral (Oxford American Dictionary: "lacking moral sense; unconcerned with the rightness or wrongness of something." In other words, neither good nor bad).

I do not believe in "bad words."

I believe in words that are tabooed as inappropriate in certain contexts, companies, circumstances.

Thus, I believe that the use of these words have an intended goal and desired outcome.

I think that if I write a piece that uses the f word, it is wholly possible that no other word in the entire English language could possibly go better in that phrase and have the same desired outcome.

"Fuck" makes you think something.

"Fuck" may offend you or may resonate with you because you use it and thus understand the emotion behind the use of such a word.

Screw is not sufficient.

Mess is not sufficient.

Freak is definitely not sufficient.

"Fuck" is all there is.

If I write a poem that reads, and I quote:

"Fuck my heart!"

You may be offended immediately by this statement. Whether for the "bad" language, or because it was used so flippantly in connection with something as sacred as the heart.

You may feel a connection to the statement, as you have felt this emotion of inner turmoil so strong that you don't want to have to deal with your emotions or your heart anymore.

But you wouldn't write:

"The inner turmoil inside of me is so strong that I don't want to deal with my emotions or heart anymore, so forget my heart."

Why?

Why is the second example so more base and lame than the first?

Because of the power of that word.

Because of the taboo.

Whether you are offended or understand the word, either way the first example more accurately describes the true emotion behind the phrase in ways that the second can never imagine.

I fear a future where these tabooed words are so common that their desired emotional attachment is lost.

However, I feel that if such a day ever comes, new words will be written to express true emotion and to be tabooed in the name of "bad" language.

I do, however, acknowledge the over abundant use of such language in certain branches of American culture where the desired outcome of that one word is lost.

However, if you think about the character, person for a second, think about their personality, their history, their story, their emotions, does that overabundance, does that profuse use not make sense?

Is not their words the desperate cry of their heart? The cry "I have not had it 'all good'! My life has not been perfect! I have suffered. I have been wronged. I am hurting! And you ignore me because I offend you. But you can't hear me when I speak. Especially when I hide it with my words. The way you are offended with my words, is how my heart is offended by my circumstances, by my pain..."

Can't you hear it? Can't you hear the cries?

I can.

I believe that as Christians we find peace and serenity in God and it is a wonderful thing, if only you could see how big I am smiling right now just thinking about the grace and mercy of the Father.

Then, as Christians, our lives are not in constant turmoil and suffering.

False.

But, the peace and serenity from Christ, from God Almighty, should heal us enough that we don't have to use such words so profusely.

But that does not mean, that does not mean, that never means, that we can't use them when we are so low, when we are so far lost, when we are in so much pain that we are crying that cry: "I am hurting. And you ignore me..."

I am not sure to my readership on this blog. I never have been. Whether only two people read it and both of them comment, or whether a handful do and only two comment, I don't know.

But if you read this, I challenge you to comment and tell me if I offend you or if I resonate with you.

Can you hear the 'fuck' I'm talking about? Or are you turning a blind eye to true emotion and real feelings because it offends you?

Perceptions. Distractions.

Perceptions.

We talked today (tonight) in class about perceptions. About how we perceive things differently. This was all spoken of in the name of criticism, how other cultures/time periods looked at a piece of literature etc etc etc, Professor Garton even talked about how my perception of the desk was different from his perception of the desk, and thus there were actually two desks (or as many desks as their were people in the room).

It's interesting to think of all the different perceptions in the world. How I perceive something is totally different than how you perceive it. And if I were to attempt to explain my perception to you, you come to it with your own and are thus biased (whether for or against mine).

Thus the question: is anything objective?

Well I don't want to get into that, but perceptions...

Perceptions make life interesting. Differing perceptions make life worth living. I would hate a world where everyone saw things the same, or rather everyone was sitting on my lap as the metaphor has it.

Some perceptions are annoying. Damn annoying. Others are admirable. Some are just unheard of. And still others are completely and utterly unique, but so profound that they catch you off guard.

In class we were talking about a story where a woman put a down payment on an abortion ($5 down payment, ha! still makes me laugh...) and Garton explained that it could be seen as admirable if it was used as a threat in order to get the man to shape up. I vocalized my agreement to this statement (that it was understandable, not that it was right). Hosanna objected and said the fact that the family didn't have the money to give their son 50¢ made the down payment/idea of a threat reckless and immature. I realized that I had not thought of that factor, granted I had only stated that I could see how the use of the abortion as a threat could be seen as noble, still it bothered me that I had failed to look at the issue from this perspective.

Small? Yes. Petty? Definitely. It still stuck with me and got me thinking about all these different angles I fail to see and factor in.

I realize I'm naïve at times and I'm fine with that (by fine I mean I acknowledge it and am working on it), I don't know...

Distractions.

There comes a time when life becomes too overwhelming. When things begin to wear you down to the point where you just want to scream because your emotions/mind/whole body is telling you that something is not right. If you're like me, and you've spent the last three years training yourself to never lose control in anger or even break down and cry, these times can be extremely difficult as there is no way to get rid your emotions.

As a writer, I typically turn to poetry.

Rocky Votolato sings:

"Caught me looking through you're eyes,

No, I'm not doing alright

I'm just as stupid and desperate as I've always been

All this uselessness I write

Just come at me with a knife

Come cut this sickness from my mind

Help me forget about a shattered lie

Bleed my failure into something right."

("The Night's Disguise" from the album "Makers")

I always sing "Help me forget about a shattered life," but apparently that's wrong and I just learned that. I like my line better, frankly. :) I love this chorus (I love this song, I love this album, greatest album of all time in my book) because I feel like this so often. Some of my favorite bits are "No, I'm not doing alright," "All this uselessness I write," "Just come at me with a knife/Come cut this sickness from my mind," and "Bleed my failure into something right." Ok so that's almost the whole chorus, but I said it was one of my favorite songs so, give me a break.

For me, recently, I have learned the value of distractions in these times of desperation and utter emotional/mental/physical retreat. Mainly I turn to stories. Television mostly because I can relax. Many, many times books, don't get me wrong I'm still an English Major, c'mon. Often I turn to music.

Many times I find people to be a distraction. Friends for coffee or a movie. Sometimes just in thought a person can be a distraction.

The point? No point. I ramble. Forgive me if I talk a little wild. Not like anyone reads this anyway. :) These are my thoughts.

Now, I need a distraction. Pizza and the season premiere of How I Met Your Mother? Yes. Please.