On Labouring

Tonight, a friend of mine came into my room and started talking to me. It was a fairly casual conversation, one you would not normally remark as anything especially out of the ordinary, but as I was talking to him he must have noticed something. He sort of cocked his head a little and asked if I was okay. Pretty standard question, but something in the compassionate way in which it was asked was very penetrating. I realized quickly that I was tired, quite tired. I have been running myself ragged, and (like usual) been putting a very undisturbed face on it. I endure. That is something I have always done. I just keep going. Somehow I had succeeded in fooling even myself that I am fine. It is not that my life is horrible, I have simply been draining myself slowly out of a hundred tiny holes. I am always busy with something, and I have not let myself rest. It is not bad to avoid inactivity, but I have not really been able to rest. The myriad of activities to which I have committed myself have been incredibly rewarding, but exhausting nonetheless.
I must be honest with myself: I am wearing myself out. Perhaps I need to cut back a little. The problem is that I also feeling a sense of urgency. Something is compelling me. I feel as though I have a great work to accomplish, but the inclination is still too nebulous for me to have any certain feelings about it. At the very least, I need to take a step back and figure out what I am pursuing and make sure my motives are right.

On the Individual

I sometimes struggle to escape cynicism when I look at the world in general, but especially at America. I suppose it is because I live here and see so many of its shortcomings. Sometimes I have to remind myself that it is not as dismal a place as I tend to think. We have yet to do anything the Romans didn't do, we've just discovered new ways of doing them. That is not really an encouraging thought, however. It makes me wonder how long before our modern "empire" falls. I have a dreadful feeling that it will, but as yet I cannot see how or when. There I am, back to my dismal outlook again. No, America has, in fact, done some good, and it would be quite wrong to give up on the country especially when it is my home.
Nevertheless, there are some aspects of American culture that really disgust me. Chief among these is the prevalent egotism in our society. I do not mean the society as a whole, though there is that. Mostly I am referring to the extreme self-centredness that is cultivated in each and every individual. I know it is a part of our human nature, but we seem to do a very good job of encouraging it around here. Somehow we managed to idolize the individual and decided that it was a far better thing to be independent. Silly.

Self-Reliance

Thanks a lot Emerson
You transcendental sage
Thanks
You gave us all self-reliance
Now we can get by
On our own
Alone
And be proud of what we've done
If I succeed
It's me
I succeeded
Me
Myself
I did it
It's all for
Me
I'll stand upon the peak
At the zenith
To survey the far spread world
The world that I have conquered
Alone
Me
By myself
There I'll find my actualization
And then at last I can die
When everyone is looking up to me
I can die
Alone
Without any help
After I fall
While everyone is watching
Me
I'll fall
Down
And die
On my own
I don't need anybody
I can do it by myself
I can die by myself
When the world I try to carry
Crushes
Me

On Broken Glass

Last night I walked down to the river for various reasons, none of which are pertinent to this account. Anyway, I love it down by the river. There are so many spots that are simply beautiful, and I have fantastic memories at each of them. There is one that features two stone/cement benches facing the river, and they are fantastic for either sitting and writing or for conversing long into the night. This is where I went last night.

By the River

The water flows so fast today
Gliding by
I came to one of my favourite spots
To listen to the river sing
Broken
Glass shard strewn about
On withered steps
Of mortar and stone
So much glass
Blue
Green
Clear
Everywhere
Amidst the straws and plastic bags
Why?
Styrofoam ground into the earth
A thousand tiny
Cigarette butts
Decay among the leaves
Over there's an empty pack
Over there's another
This makes me sick
Gatorade and mountain dew
Washed up bottles by the shore
And so much alcohol
Expensive or cheap
It was here
The not quite empty cans testify
And all the coloured glass
The refuse mosaic
Beside my stone bench
And over there
Beside those long dead branches
A sleeping bag lies cast aside
I shudder
It all has been defiled
Broken
I came here for peace
But here I now must morn.

I know this is not a particularly good poem, but the occurance was important to me, and I had to write it. I also feel I must clarify that this is not at all a poem about being against littering or going green. Those are very important, but they have nothing at all to do with my poem. It is more about the disregard for and degradation of beauty, of something I held slightly sacred in a way. It turns my stomach to think of what might have happened in that place of peace and reflection. I cannot expect people to know that I hold that place in such regard, but they can at least respect beauty.

On the Continued Pursuance of Wonder

I know I said that I would post my good poems as they came. I do not know if this is a good one, but I really like it. It makes me happy, so I decided to post it anyway. My poems have been quite melancholy of late. I think it is partly owing to the constant grey skies we have had for the last week. I love grey skies, but when I write beneath them, I write with a somber melancholy. Anyway, here is a poem.

Ode to a Dragon

Gone
Gone
The mighty beast is gone
A little bit of magic
Is lost
So far gone
Where is the great lizard,
The lord of all the skies,
Where?
The hawks
Circling above
Are a mockery.
Where is the creature
Who blotted out the sun
Whose beating wings
Could shake the earth
Where?
Man
And beast
Trembled at his coming
fled at his approach
Hid when he drew near
But once the dragon came,
They stood
In awe.
Shrouded by smoke
His eyes shown forth
Ever burning embers
Keen,
Wise,
Terrible,
The eyes of a creature
Who knows his power
Who knows that he is feared.
Majestic
But now gone,
Making the world
A smaller place.
Where are you ancient one?
Why did you disappear?
Why did you die?
Why was your flame
Extinguished?

On Challenges

So it is time to add another chapter to the ongoing saga of my love of writing. I am still not sure how this idea developed, but I now have a writing buddy by the name of Jess who shall make sure I write while I make sure that she does the same. I am pretty sure this grew out of our mutual desires to write and our respective failures in that regard. Out of that discussion came the idea of setting goals to which we would keep each other accountable. Unable to come up with goals for ourselves, we decided that each would be responsible for challenging the other as well as determining rewards and punishment based on performance. The first idea Jess came up with for punishment was public humiliation, the next idea was public flogging. Somehow it became buying a cup of coffee for the other person, but I have a feeling the final call would be something much more creative. We shall see.
Well, as of yesterday, I had two weeks to complete a short story based on someone I know. I know have thirteen days and a basic plot idea. It will be a good time to see where this partnership goes. Right now Jess has the challenge to write a first person narrative that is not about herself. I am not sure yet if we are starting small or biting off more than we can chew, but I suppose we will find out soon enough.

On Subterfuge

I do not know that this is an especially good poem, but I am rather fond of it, and it was fun to write, so I am going to post it regardless.

Idleness

Time has slipped away
Because I forgot to count the seconds.
I heard no ticks,
I heard no tocks,
For a digital clock is silent,
And it serves as a double agent.
When clocks went digital,
It all went downhill.
The computers are taking over.
Time
Time
Precious time
Lost to the LCD glow.
We lose our thoughts
We lose our souls
But first we lose our time.