Goodbye Ink and Paper Vingt Six

"People aren't used to thinking in a very charming or handsome way. I think pretty words can sweep away a lot of the grime because people are becoming so mentally depressed and inverted that they can't think of a positive language any more."The language that people use totally erodes the heart, but modern life doesn't give much opportunity for really inflated language. The art of conversation has definitely been destroyed." -Morrissey

Can you delve so low ?

And when you're standing

On my fingers

Can you see it in your heart ?

And when you try

To break my spirit

It won't work

Because there's nothing left to break

Anymore

All of the rumours

Keeping me grounded

I never said,

I never said that they were

Completely unfounded

You've done it now

You won't rest

Until the disease that becomes me

Finally takes me

You've done it now

And you won't smile

Until my loving mouth is shut good and proper

FOREVER

All of the rumours

Keeping me grounded I never said,

I never said

That they were completely unfounded

And all those lies

Written lies, twisted lies

Well, they weren't lies

They weren't lies

Goodbye Ink and Paper Vingt Cinq

Recalling who I was, I see somebody else.

In memory the past becomes the present.

Who I was is somebody I love,

But only in a dream.

The longing that torments me now

Is not from me or by the past invoked,

But hers who live in me

Behind blind eyes.

Nothing knows me but the moment.

My own memory is nothing, and I feel

That who I am and who I was

Are two contrasting dreams.
I digress.

I was reading Pessoa this morning and as I fumbled through pages I caught sight of a poem.

"If you want to kill yourself how come you don't kill yourself ?"

The poem provides a comical view on depression and self-loathing.

Some lines so you can get the general idea:

"And in any case, if you're sick of existing,

Be sick with some dignity".

"You hesitate at the thought of better days ahead.

Maybe it will get harder if you go on enduring than if you stopped enduring...

You hesitate at the thought of those who love you.

Maybe things will get worse for others if you go on living..."

Once upon a time, whenever I was tempted to sit in the bathtub of bad feelings, I would read this poem and have a good laugh at my own expense.

That's all I have time for today...

Goodbye Ink and Paper Vingt Quatre

How many times have I been around ?

Recycled papers paving the ground

Well, she lives for the written word

And people come second, or possibly third

And there is no style, but I say "well done"

To the Girl Least Likely To

Deep in my heart, how I wish I was wrong

But deep in my heart, I know I am not

And there's enough gloom in her world, I'm certain

Without my contribution

So I sit, and I smile, and I say "well done"

To the Girl Least Likely To

Page after page of sniping rage

"There's a publisher," she said, "...in the new year"

(It's never in this year)I do think this, but I can't admit it

To the Girl Least Likely To

One more song with no technique

One more song which seems all wrong ...and the news is bad again

See me as I am again

So how many times will I shed a tear ?

And another stage of verse to cheer

When you shine in the public eye, my dear

Please remember these nights

When I sit and support with a dutiful smile

Because there's nothing I can say

So chucking, churning, and turning the knife

On everything (except their own life)

And a clock somewhere strikes midnight

And an explanation - it drains me

If only there could be a way

There is a different mood all over the world

A different youth, unfamiliar views

And dearest, it could all be for you

So will you come down and I'll meet you ?

And with no more poems, with nothing to hear

Oh darling, it's all for you...Darling, it's all for you ...

Beautiful Chaos

Goodbye Ink and Paper Vingt Trois

A myriad of complications :

An exposure past the inlaid claims

Seizing what was initially rejected

Unsanctioned inheritances

Discredit witty repartee
Maybe in the next world

Privation or windfall?

I know it's the latter

It was all my own accident

That was how it began

I'm sorry doesn't matter

Dolorous moments were the only ones left.

Escalating emotion

The uncertainty is what is crushing me

Whatever happened, I am contrite, but I'll never be sure why

Exigent answers

If not now when? Never

How soon is now? Too soon

It's an impossibility. Is it?

Generating misconceptions

Cause and effect

January is a time best put out of mind

February-februum-purification

Is that what it was? My view may be askew

I wanted to write you a letter, but there isn't enough paper in the world for it. If there were, I could fasten it to a balloon, and hope that the wind headed in the right direction. If I were older, I'm sure I would know better than to trust the course of the wind with such an important task. I'll be so happy to grow older, to move away from these younger dreams.

I am not done with this cryptic posting phase...
Next time I will set out to write something that can be clearly defined. It will be so easily defined that you can size it up and label it. We'll just have to wait and see.
No promises...

This is all very trivial but true, more thoughts...

No one has any idea what anyone else is feeling, their motives for ...anything, or the effects that their behavior has on others. This lack of responsibility, this careless inability to put themselves in the position of others is very damaging, not only to myself, but to society as a whole. When I look at things of this nature from an outsiders perspective I find myself in the right. Everyone is at fault. Naturally, I exclude myself.

Accept Yourself.

Every day you must say

So, how do I feel about my life ?

Dreams have a knack of just not coming true.

Others conquered life - but I ran

I sat in my room and I drew up a plan

But plans can fall through (as so often they do)

Accept yourself

But I once had a dream (and it never came true)

And time is against me now...

Now for something happy (relatively) :

There was no monday.

Tuesday

Don't take your life tonight
I know they take
And that they take in turn
And they give you nothing real
For yourself in return

I will be here, believe me

believe me?

when they've used you
And they have broken you
And cast your shell aside

I will stay right here

Angel, don't take your life
Some people have no pride
They do not understand
The Urgency of life
But I love you more than life

Wednesday is a day better left behind.

Thursday

Did you really think I meant all of the syrupy, sentimental things I said the other day?

It's not Tuesday anymore.

Every motion was planned out specifically for viewing.

I adjust my reclining form

Bored by the inattention

My audience didn't applaud loud enough.

I exit stage left.

What is a friday? I am not familiar with the concept.

Saturday

Can't you see it in my eyes?

When you're standing so close, how can you mistake it?

The finale is over and done with, everyone is going home.

Why don't you?

Standing there with nothing to do

I can think of four things

But, my blood sugar dropped too low

I've just fainted

I'm hovering over your dormant form

I could have dragged you in, and mentioned your name

I didn't and I wouldn't

In my own strange way, I'll always be true to you

Can you blame me?

Sunday Morning, the rest isn't important

Games, the outcome is rarely in my favor.

When all is said and done it's me I love.

Things have been bad, but now we're going on nineteen years

Why would I ruin it now?

Whatever happens, I love you.

Yet another fine example of my exceedingly odd sense of humor...

There's more to life than books, but not much more, not much more.

Excuse my overblown blog.

I hope I am coming off as either pompous or abstruse, seeing as this was my intent.

It's like I've been hanging around with Dr. Faustus or something....

Thanks Christopher Marlowe.

Goodbye Ink and Paper Vingt Deux

Travel? One need only to exist to travel. I go from day to day, as from Paris to Mumbai. The people are the same and always different, just like scenery. If I imagine, I see. What more do I do when I travel? Only extreme poverty of imagination justifies having to travel to feel. So why travel? In Madrid, Seoul,The Maldives, Nairobi, or the South Pole, where would I be but in myself, and my particular type of sensations? Life is what we make of it. Travel is the traveller. What we see isn't what we see but what we are.

One of my better verbal moments in my unbearable interiorizing :

From the lap of the sleeping grandmother falls the orange thread of the soul. The stealthy striped cat peers at the abandoned embroidery in her hands. He gnaws at it. He passes it between his paws. Orange shreds rest on the worn carpet. The cat rolls it under her chair out of sight. His life is a ball of yarn that he tangled up. It would make sense if it were rolled up tight and impenetrable. It would make sense unrolled and completely stretched out. Such as it is, life is a problem without shape, a confusion of yarn leading nowhere.

Parking lot

Where the curb was smoothed and sloped

Contours redefined by erosion

As a manmade barrier crumbles

Contorted mineral warmed by presence

Shadow beside

Adjusted naturally

Shadow on the gravel

Particles of artificial solidarity

I'm feeling very long winded this evening.

Literature- which is art married to thought, and realization untainted by reality-seems to some the end towards which all human effort would have to strive. To express something is to conserve its virtue and take away its terror. Fields are greener in their description than in their actual greenness. Flowers, if described with phrases that define them in the air of imagination, will have colors with a durability not found in cellular life. What moves lives. What is said endures. There's nothing in life that's less real for having been well described. Small minded critics point out that a specific poem, with its cadences, in the end says only that it is a lovely day. But to say it's a nice day is difficult, and the nice day itself passes on. It's up to us to conserve the nice day in a wordy, florid memory, sprinking new flowers, new stars, and brighter colors over the field and skies of the fleeting outer world. The novelist is all of us, and we narrate whenever we see, because seeing is complex like everything.

Goodbye Ink and Paper Vingt et Un

Truman Capote, you are gone but not forgotten. I read Breakfast at Tiffany's when I was thirteen or fourteen. I saw the movie shortly after that. The movie is an exception to my usual feelings about books turned into movies, in that I prefer it to the novella. I believe that it has a little something to do with casting and Old Hollywood magic.

The novella Breakfast at Tiffany's is supposedly either about Dorian Leigh, or Marilyn Monroe.Capote had sought out Miss Monroe to play Holly Golightly, this would have been a tragedy,and I am thankful he couldn't get her to do it. Fate stepped in taking the form of a sprightly and ever jovial actress.

There is only one woman who could ever be Holly. Her name is Audrey, and I adore her.She played the part well; flawlessly understanding that Holly Golightly makes a holiday of life, but she treads through it lightly. Holly hides her true self behind a glamorous facade, it comes out when she is sleeping, and when she has drank a tad bit too much. Holly expieriences "the mean reds" which she describes as worse than the blues and can only be cured by "hopping in a cab and going to Tiffany's." Miss Golightly is so wrapped up in the little world she carved out for herself that she ignores the past and the future. She lives entirely in the moment. She savors attention and being a "real phony, honestly believing in all the phony stuff she believes." It catches up with her quickly, and painfully. When the feelings she holds enclosed in her heart surface the result is a dramatic tear covered scene. There is only one person who remotely understands her. His name is Paul Varjak, they meet early one morning, on the staircase outside her doorstep. They become friends quickly. They spend days running around exploring the city like little children. They take turns doing something each of them has never done before. She takes him to Tiffany's. He takes her to the library. They form a tight emotional bond. She lets him look through the keyhole in the door to her world. As much as he wants to save her from herself and be let allowed to view the person underneath he knows he can't. She has to come to some realizations on her own first. It is a powerful work that touches on relationships, self discovery, and the imaginary worlds flighty girls foolishly build.

This is my favorite song. It has held that position for several years. It was composed specifically for the film. Thank you Mr. Mancini.

Moonriver
Wider than a mile
I'll be crossing you in style someday
Oh, Dreammaker you heartbreaker
Wherever you're going
I'm going your way
Two drifters off to see the world
I'm not so sure the world deserves us
We're after the same rainbow's end
How come it's just around the bend ?
It's always just around the bend.

Deja Vous. If you know what I mean, I highly doubt that you do. It may be that Miss Golightly is ever so slightly unbalanced, but someone still carries her home.

Constant Make Believe: This isn't about you...or anything. I mean...I wouldn't do that...or anything.