Damn.
Damn. How will I ever gain readership if I can't bring myself to write more than once a month?
I am so busy again. Been writing a lot lately. Just random tidbits here and there. Scraps of paper, letters never sent, and entries for my new "job" as a Charleston Dance Examiner.
I'm dancing again.
Starting grad school in May?
Am I insane?
Today I wrote a little. Don't normally share this type of writing, but here it is nonetheless. A series of notes on a blank page that sort of came to the conclusion that there is "too much honest tragedy in the world for me to be melodramatic about feelings"...
De.love.ly
the moment I realized
I'd realized nothing
the moment the strength
became fragile
the moment the passion
became fire
the moment. I. became
de.love.ly
no title
lying dormant within
these feelings
could wreck a mansion
housing happiness
through times of pain,
the cracks begin to show
a fragile soul
clings to braces
as clouds begin to pour,
washing away the moment.
within.
and sun shines
on a shattered foundation
no title
finding a balance between sorrow & happy & where my spirit lies
I feel
But sometimes it's easier not to
think.
Was comfortably numb a bad thing?
Bliss isn't ignorance. Bliss is not thinking, not putting thoughts to the feelings
Beacuse there's too much in the world. The world is too much.
Pretending to find, but filling a void.
And is it what I want?
I could float for ages.
Am I comfortably comfortable?
Become uncomfortable
and I'm wrong.
And so I make "you" (you?!)
happy. (?!)
And I am...
I am...
I am.
no title
If anyone thought enough she could be unhappy.
I'm just unsettled.
Song of myself. In you.
Myself in you.
In you.
god.
you.
Pablo Neruda - "If You Forget Me"
* on the fringe of way too much
too much honest tragedy in the world to be melodramatic about feelings.
So...
All that just to come to that conclusion. I don't know. I kind of like it.
Then at ballet one of my ballerinas asked me if I was a champion. I asked, "What do you mean?" Another said, "Were you, like, popular?" They wanted to know if I was a champion ballerina, which doesn't technically exist... And I smiled.
Then as I drove with the window down, and good music on the radio, I smiled.
And as I watched my neice tell me stories at dinner, I smiled.
And I remembered...there's too much honest tragedy in the world to be melodramtic about feelings.
I'm sort of on a poetry kick, as I'm studying poetry this week with my students. I'm thinking of starting a notebook of just my poems and maybe including some of my favorites as well. The more I write, I'm realizing poetry may be my favorite. There's such an honesty and deepness with poetry to me. And any one who feels the words can be involved in this deepest of connections...
hmmm....
Damn.