I have never really experimented too much with writing in a stream of consciousness. Some of my poetry is stream of consciousness-esque, but I tend to edit while I write and usually end up forcing something that started out stream of consciousness into a coherent structure and line of though, so it doesn't really count. I felt like writing something today, but wasn't sure what, so I decided to give it a shot, and this is what happened.
the page is yellow like flames, and the heat illuminates words that sear in my mind as surely as they are blackened on this paper. it is crisp in my hand and i can smell the age on it. it is a wondrous smell, deeper than the sea and carrying more weight. how much weight there must be at the bottom of the ocean. I have carried ten gallons of water and it was a burden that made me wish for the might of hercules, i am not nearly so strong as i wish, am thought, or presume to be, but i was strong enough to carry that water, and i thought it a terrible load, but it was just ten gallons and there are millions in the ocean. the sheer weight of it is inconceivable and sometimes i feel that such huge numbers could overcome my mind like a tidal wave, like thinking of infinity vanishing into the crushing force of a black hole which swallows and spits out an infinity in itself, at least it seems like it, but my mind cannot conceive of such weighty sums; it prefers smaller numbers--less than ten is nice, but sometimes one or two is more than enough, you see, i am not all that good at making decision and the fewer the options, the better: that is why infinity is such a frightening concept. who knows what can happen in infinity, and the contemplation of it almost seems to swallow me up as surely as my bones will someday be swallowed up by time, long after my soul has been lost to eternity.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
On Publication
So, I found this magazine called Poetry the magazine, which accepts submissions from anyone and everyone who fancies themselves deserving of publication: four poems at a time in the space of two months. However, they do not accept any poetry that has been previously published...even things published on the internet. That means blog posts too. So now I am afraid to put any of my good poems on my blog, because someday I might want to submit them. However, I don't want to put mediocre poetry on my blog because that is no fun for anyone.
I am at an impasse.
I am at an impasse.
Monday, November 16, 2009
On Catching my Breath
It's been a while since I posted, but my life was pretty severely insane there for a while. As a consequence of my tendency to over-commit, I found myself devoting numerous hours that I did not have in working on a set I co-designed with my buddy Scotty. Sleep was the thing most sacrificed (my blog too apparently). Twice this week I got less than two hours of shut-eye: not good. Somehow (and by somehow, I mean by the grace of God) I made it through this week, and the set was even completed. I have been hoping for about a fortnight that I would eventually find some time to breath. I am really hoping this is it. What I am really hoping is that I will find some time to create before I find myself over-committed again. I am gearing up for a night of poetry/music/monologues at Lula's this week. I can't wait. It's been far too long since I've done a reading of any of my poetry.
Friday, November 6, 2009
On Balance
I have been thinking about balance a lot lately. I consider myself a fairly balanced person, both physically and in temperament. I'm about as laid back as they come, and I tend to see the world from that perspective. Balancing all things against each other. For every joy, there will be a sorrow; for every pleasure, pain. Republicans and Democrats both mess up. What goes up, must come down. There is male and female. Every sunrise has a sunset. Balance is all over the place, but it seems most prominent at times in nature. A tree's roots dig as deep as its branches climb. Tides always come in and go out. Electricity has both a positive and a negative charge. Even at the very nature of the universe there is balance. For every particle in existence, there is an anti-particle. The prevalence of all this balance does not become truly troubling until one considers the presence of good and evil. Do they share in this balance? Are they equal?
Philosophers, theologians, writers, and movie makers have been fighting for years to discern whether human nature is inherently good or inherently evil. There seem to be good arguments either way, but the more I look at it, the more it seems to me that there are both. Everything humanity does has both good and evil applications. We invent a metal blade, and with it we harvest our grain, then kill fellow humans. We create languages, which help us to communicate, but also create divides between each other worth fighting wars over. We find ways of producing more food and better food, then eat until our weight kills us. We invent television and the internet, technological wonders that can inform, entertain, and aid human connection, but they are also vessels for violence, pornography and a further disattachment from other people than has ever before been known. The list could go on forever.
If good and evil are the opposite and opposed forces they seem to be here, what does that mean in the big picture? Were Taoism and Dualism right all along? Is this battle between good and evil not only equally matched and thus futile, but also a necessary balance for the maintenance of order in the world? Christianity would argue that God already has the victory over Satan and that evil cannot triumph, but a look at the world shows a whole lot of evil running rampant. How can this be justified? This is another of the classic questions.
I was not quite sure what to do with all of this until I started to change my conception of good and evil. I did not adopt a stance of relativism or anything of that nature. Rather, it was through reading the work of C. S. Lewis that I came to understand evil as not the opposite of good, but as a corruption, a twisting of good: a pursuit of good too long, too far, for too much of it, or in the wrong way. It is just like dark is not the opposite of light, rather it is the absence. Black is not the opposite of white, rather, a white surface reflects light, and a black surface does not. They are opposed, yes, but not opposites--not equals.
The final stroke against Dualism for me was when I realized that all of this balance in the world--the very balance that likely led to the ideas of Dualism--was good. Balance was a good thing. God created all of this balance "and it was good," but we humans with our tendency to corrupt everything try to make good and evil fit within an institution that is already good itself. It is a contradiction. But if God created this balance, than he is beyond it, outside of it, supreme to it. So we should not be surprised when he is able to triumph over evil. He is not fighting an opposite; he is light shining in a shadow.
Philosophers, theologians, writers, and movie makers have been fighting for years to discern whether human nature is inherently good or inherently evil. There seem to be good arguments either way, but the more I look at it, the more it seems to me that there are both. Everything humanity does has both good and evil applications. We invent a metal blade, and with it we harvest our grain, then kill fellow humans. We create languages, which help us to communicate, but also create divides between each other worth fighting wars over. We find ways of producing more food and better food, then eat until our weight kills us. We invent television and the internet, technological wonders that can inform, entertain, and aid human connection, but they are also vessels for violence, pornography and a further disattachment from other people than has ever before been known. The list could go on forever.
If good and evil are the opposite and opposed forces they seem to be here, what does that mean in the big picture? Were Taoism and Dualism right all along? Is this battle between good and evil not only equally matched and thus futile, but also a necessary balance for the maintenance of order in the world? Christianity would argue that God already has the victory over Satan and that evil cannot triumph, but a look at the world shows a whole lot of evil running rampant. How can this be justified? This is another of the classic questions.
I was not quite sure what to do with all of this until I started to change my conception of good and evil. I did not adopt a stance of relativism or anything of that nature. Rather, it was through reading the work of C. S. Lewis that I came to understand evil as not the opposite of good, but as a corruption, a twisting of good: a pursuit of good too long, too far, for too much of it, or in the wrong way. It is just like dark is not the opposite of light, rather it is the absence. Black is not the opposite of white, rather, a white surface reflects light, and a black surface does not. They are opposed, yes, but not opposites--not equals.
The final stroke against Dualism for me was when I realized that all of this balance in the world--the very balance that likely led to the ideas of Dualism--was good. Balance was a good thing. God created all of this balance "and it was good," but we humans with our tendency to corrupt everything try to make good and evil fit within an institution that is already good itself. It is a contradiction. But if God created this balance, than he is beyond it, outside of it, supreme to it. So we should not be surprised when he is able to triumph over evil. He is not fighting an opposite; he is light shining in a shadow.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
On Imperfection
"At the beginning of electronic music, some German studios claimed that they could make every sound that a natrual instrument could make - only better. They then discovered that all their sounds were marked by a certain uniform sterility. So they analysed the sounds made by clarinets, flutes, violins, and found that each not contained a remarkably high proportion of plain noise: actual scraping, or the mixture of heavy breathing with wind on wood: from a purist point of view, but the composers soon found themselves compelled to make synthetic dirt - to 'humanize' their compositions."
--Peter Brook
It seems to me that one of the essential human traits is imperfection. Most people would reply to this with a resounding duh, especially Christians. However, I don't just mean sinfulness, or even a proclivity for wrongdoing, though that may be a derivative. I believe that even a sinless person would be imperfect. Only God is perfect. That is why it meant lowering himself when Christ became a human being: He was still sinless, but no longer perfect.
I think of Tolkien's description of the elves of Middle Earth. They are almost ephemeral beings: ageless, wise, and profound in all, especially beauty. Whenever the mortal races interact with the elves, there is a distance kept, an incomprehension that stands in the way of comfort. Next to the elves, men and dwarves and hobbits all seem low and dirty, but they have their own richness, not necessarily better or more, simply different.
In writing dialogue, especially for plays and screenplays, one piece of advice I have heard often and to which I try to cling is that dialogue ought to have imperfections. No one uses perfect grammar when they speak. Maybe a few characters try here and there, but sooner or later, they will respond with a fragment. That is just the way we talk. Even in Shakespeare's verse, heightened language, some of the most interesting moments are when he breaks the rhythm of his iambic pentameter. One of my favourite lines in all of Shakespeare's plays is King Lear's line upon finding his daughter Cordelia dead: "Thoult come no more/Never, never, never, never, never." The regular iambic rhythm of "ba Bum ba Bum ba Bum" is replaced by halting trochaic feet: "Bum ba Bum ba Bum ba" It is almost as if, through the speech, you can hear his heart faltering. Imperfection finer than any that gives a diamond its true beauty. In the same way, though symmetry is what makes a face attractive, it is asymmetry that makes it stand out. Think of Marilyn Monroe and her famous "beauty mark." It was a mole--a mutation, a defect--but it is what made her beauty special.
I think this is why we find imperfection so beautiful. We are ourselves imperfect. We may find perfection admirable, but we do not connect to it as personally. It is distant, foreign. This is one of the reasons why God had to become human. We could not really know him otherwise. He had to share in our imperfection for us to truly be able to approach him, and in approaching him really approach the perfect Deity we so fear to know.
--Peter Brook
It seems to me that one of the essential human traits is imperfection. Most people would reply to this with a resounding duh, especially Christians. However, I don't just mean sinfulness, or even a proclivity for wrongdoing, though that may be a derivative. I believe that even a sinless person would be imperfect. Only God is perfect. That is why it meant lowering himself when Christ became a human being: He was still sinless, but no longer perfect.
I think of Tolkien's description of the elves of Middle Earth. They are almost ephemeral beings: ageless, wise, and profound in all, especially beauty. Whenever the mortal races interact with the elves, there is a distance kept, an incomprehension that stands in the way of comfort. Next to the elves, men and dwarves and hobbits all seem low and dirty, but they have their own richness, not necessarily better or more, simply different.
In writing dialogue, especially for plays and screenplays, one piece of advice I have heard often and to which I try to cling is that dialogue ought to have imperfections. No one uses perfect grammar when they speak. Maybe a few characters try here and there, but sooner or later, they will respond with a fragment. That is just the way we talk. Even in Shakespeare's verse, heightened language, some of the most interesting moments are when he breaks the rhythm of his iambic pentameter. One of my favourite lines in all of Shakespeare's plays is King Lear's line upon finding his daughter Cordelia dead: "Thoult come no more/Never, never, never, never, never." The regular iambic rhythm of "ba Bum ba Bum ba Bum" is replaced by halting trochaic feet: "Bum ba Bum ba Bum ba" It is almost as if, through the speech, you can hear his heart faltering. Imperfection finer than any that gives a diamond its true beauty. In the same way, though symmetry is what makes a face attractive, it is asymmetry that makes it stand out. Think of Marilyn Monroe and her famous "beauty mark." It was a mole--a mutation, a defect--but it is what made her beauty special.
I think this is why we find imperfection so beautiful. We are ourselves imperfect. We may find perfection admirable, but we do not connect to it as personally. It is distant, foreign. This is one of the reasons why God had to become human. We could not really know him otherwise. He had to share in our imperfection for us to truly be able to approach him, and in approaching him really approach the perfect Deity we so fear to know.
Monday, October 19, 2009
On Silicon Skins
Binary
In this binary world
We are all ones and zeros
Ones
And zeros
Standing alone
Standing empty
With ones and zeros on every side
Ones and zeros
In endless rows and columns
Adding up
But never becoming sums
Remaining forever
Ones
And Zeros
Disparate
Alone
It probably seems hypocrytical for me to post a poem like this in an electronic blog, and maybe it is, but at least I wrote it in ink...
Regardless, this blog is a place where I have a voice, even if it is one that only a few people hear. And what I want to say with this voice is that nowadays we have a hard time connecting to people, especially when so much of it takes place online. The internet is great, and it can help connect people. That is true. But so often it becomes a crutch that keeps people from walking far enough to actually see each other, and that is when it becomes a problem.
Monday, October 12, 2009
On Leaves
I love Fall.
I love all the seasons, and they all have their merits, but there is nothing like fall. This is probably pretty common knowledge to those who know me well, and they've probably heard some of this stuff before, but fall is so prevalent right now that I cannot stop thinking, and therefore writing, about it. Something about fall just gets deep inside me. It helps, of course, that I enjoy cold weather. The feeling of a strong, chilly wind is enlivening, and Autumn rain is like the showering of the Spirit. However, I also love the colours.
The colours.
Fall is absolutely beautiful. I don't think I could live anywhere without deciduous trees. Maybe for a while, but I would miss the changing of the fall season too much. I take so much joy in watching Autumn paint her masterpiece year after year, turning the world into a wash of ochre and umber with vibrant splashes of fire here and there. How can you see this and not love fall? Maybe my artistic sensibility just runs away with me, but I cannot help feeling that there is something holy about fall.
It is interesting to think scientifically about what happens when the weather starts getting cold and the leaves start dying. That is essentially what it is. The leaves start dying. What keeps them alive is the chloroplasts using photosynthesis to provide energy for the plant. These chloroplasts are also what make leaves green. When the cold weather hits, these chloroplasts stop their photosynthesis, and the leaves lose their green. That is when their true nature comes out.
I was told once that Death is the road to awe.
How remarkable it is that God would create plants that became beautiful in death! The greens of spring and summer are vibrant and striking, and I would not give them away, but it blows my mind to think that when that green--that life drains away, the leaves are still beautiful.
That is poetry.
That is God.
Sometimes I think that Jesus is like the autumn leaves. His death came with a wash of red, and in that death he became something inconceivably beautiful. The true nature of his life was revealed in a way that is truly awe inspiring. And like the trees, his death was not forever, but he rose again.
Sometimes I think that we are like the autumn leaves.
Sugar Maples
The trees are beginning to burn
Burn
Throwing their light against the sky
But like Moses and the bush
The trees are not consumed
No, they are the fire
Showing light from deep within the leaves
Iridescent reds and yellows
Revealed by the coming death of winter
As these leaves die
Their true natures are revealed
Awe
And we are like the leaves
With iridescent souls
Waiting only for death
To be revealed
I love all the seasons, and they all have their merits, but there is nothing like fall. This is probably pretty common knowledge to those who know me well, and they've probably heard some of this stuff before, but fall is so prevalent right now that I cannot stop thinking, and therefore writing, about it. Something about fall just gets deep inside me. It helps, of course, that I enjoy cold weather. The feeling of a strong, chilly wind is enlivening, and Autumn rain is like the showering of the Spirit. However, I also love the colours.
The colours.
Fall is absolutely beautiful. I don't think I could live anywhere without deciduous trees. Maybe for a while, but I would miss the changing of the fall season too much. I take so much joy in watching Autumn paint her masterpiece year after year, turning the world into a wash of ochre and umber with vibrant splashes of fire here and there. How can you see this and not love fall? Maybe my artistic sensibility just runs away with me, but I cannot help feeling that there is something holy about fall.
It is interesting to think scientifically about what happens when the weather starts getting cold and the leaves start dying. That is essentially what it is. The leaves start dying. What keeps them alive is the chloroplasts using photosynthesis to provide energy for the plant. These chloroplasts are also what make leaves green. When the cold weather hits, these chloroplasts stop their photosynthesis, and the leaves lose their green. That is when their true nature comes out.
I was told once that Death is the road to awe.
How remarkable it is that God would create plants that became beautiful in death! The greens of spring and summer are vibrant and striking, and I would not give them away, but it blows my mind to think that when that green--that life drains away, the leaves are still beautiful.
That is poetry.
That is God.
Sometimes I think that Jesus is like the autumn leaves. His death came with a wash of red, and in that death he became something inconceivably beautiful. The true nature of his life was revealed in a way that is truly awe inspiring. And like the trees, his death was not forever, but he rose again.
Sometimes I think that we are like the autumn leaves.
Sugar Maples
The trees are beginning to burn
Burn
Throwing their light against the sky
But like Moses and the bush
The trees are not consumed
No, they are the fire
Showing light from deep within the leaves
Iridescent reds and yellows
Revealed by the coming death of winter
As these leaves die
Their true natures are revealed
Awe
And we are like the leaves
With iridescent souls
Waiting only for death
To be revealed
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
On Publishing
I had decided this summer that I was going to start assembling some poetry and try to get it published. This suffered a serious setback when I was deprived of my laptop. However, now that I have a new one, I have begun working on it again.
The only problems is: I have no idea what I'm doing. Right now, I'm just typing up a bunch of poems, but I don't know where to go from there. I'm trying to follow a basic theme, but I have written so many poems over the past year, that it is hard to wade through them all and weed stuff out. Then I will edit it, but that is a process that seems quite daunting. Since I started writing a poem every day, I stopped revising quite so much, which may be a problem, but I am certainly going to get a work out now. There is also the challenge of actually getting them published. A nice electronic copy of well-edited poems is pretty useless without any way for people to read them. In this area, I have no idea whatsoever what I ought to be doing.
Any advice?
The only problems is: I have no idea what I'm doing. Right now, I'm just typing up a bunch of poems, but I don't know where to go from there. I'm trying to follow a basic theme, but I have written so many poems over the past year, that it is hard to wade through them all and weed stuff out. Then I will edit it, but that is a process that seems quite daunting. Since I started writing a poem every day, I stopped revising quite so much, which may be a problem, but I am certainly going to get a work out now. There is also the challenge of actually getting them published. A nice electronic copy of well-edited poems is pretty useless without any way for people to read them. In this area, I have no idea whatsoever what I ought to be doing.
Any advice?
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