genuine feelings/conflicted feelings/conflicted forms of expression/death...

I have mixed feelings about poetry open mics, because on one hand I do want to share parts of my creative self, but on the other hand, I often feel uncomfortable publicly sharing my poetry unless a literary magazine or press specifically chose to accept it for publication. Sometimes publicly sharing it in front of a crowd feels a bit too close for comfort to forcing myself upon other people. Granted that doesn't necessarily make sense, because most of the people who attend poetry readings are other poetry people who chose to attend for a poetic reason, but I sometimes (possibly incorrectly) sense them looking away from me or rolling their eyes. I can visualize a specific guy looking away last time I read one of my poems in public, but that doesn't mean I know WHY he chose to look away.

If I was chosen as a featured reader (rather than random open mic reader), I sometimes feel better about it - but overall, I still tend towards feeling edgy and/or somewhat awkward and/or rather uncomfortable.

However, I don't want to be invisible or unknown or unseen or unheard or un-involved in the poetry scene. But with that said, I'm no scenester. I don't want to attend reading after reading in order to be a big part of a particular scene, and not allow myself enough time to focus upon my personal creative process. I feel the need to focus quite a bit of my time and mental energy on creative processing and writing by myself.

But on the other hand, I do like to not only read other poets, but also listen to, meet, and sometimes interact with other poets. I don't want any poets to feel un-heard (unless they want their whole process to be private), but I tend to relate to poets who are into the actual creation of poetry more than poets who are into being a big part of the poetry scene. I'm not saying some people can't be significant parts of both to an extent. I think it's a balancing act that different people balance differently.

I personally alternate between focusing on my own poetry - and focusing on other people's poetry via my small indie print press (Blood Pudding Press) and my online blog style lit mag (Thirteen Myna Birds) - and sometimes reading my poetry/listening to other's poetry in person/in public.

But the primary mental/emotional part of it for me and my personal poetic/artistic expression is via the actual writing and the actual poetry.

Also, I often feel like with my own poetry and my press poetry and my slow reading, I don't have nearly enough time to focus on just reading for the sake of reading - whether online literary magazines or print chapbooks or books. I'm not kidding when I say that I literally have HUNDREDS of unread poetry chapbooks and books in my home, because I like to support small presses by acquiring books that seem appealing to me, but also my reading is WAY slower than it used to be (before my stroke) and my brain is different than it used to be, and I can't read/process anything quickly, so it's hard to combine my own writing with a print press with an online blog style mag with reading other stuff too. That change of my brain sometimes makes me feel sad.

But I'm happy to be a creative individual, primarily poetry focused, with occasional spurts of visual art. 

***

On another level of sadness, I sometimes feel like I am terrible when it comes to talking non-poetically about certain emotionally devastating issues, including death.

I don't just want to tell someone that I'm thinking of them or praying for them (even if that is true); I want to express more/deeper/more individualistically, but sometimes I don't know what to say or how to say it, unless I say it poetically/artistically in a way that's open to interpretation.

It's not that I'm unemotional or don't have real life feelings.

I think I'm good at expressing my feelings on a small scale personal level; but I'm not good at expressing my feelings on a larger scale level, in which lots of people are expressing themselves in rapid succession. I guess I'm not good at rapid succession?

I don't like to open presents fast, because I want good gifts to last as long as they can.

I don't like to express strong sadness fast, because I don't want it to come close to ebbing too soon.

I don't know if any of this makes logical sense.

I don't know what to do sometimes.

I don't know.

***

So sometimes when a poet I know suddenly dies, I don't know what to say right away.  I don't want to be silent about it, but I also don't want to be someone who hardly ever says anything about someone when they're alive, but suddenly seems to have a lot to say shortly after they pass away.

But I certainly don't want it to seem as if I'm ignoring someone after they pass away.

But I also have mild aphasia based memory issues that seem to further add on to my not knowing what to say.

I do know that poet Marthe Reed suddenly passed away and I feel sad and upset about it, but I do not know what to say in a larger scale way. I did not know her very well on a personal level, but I have been aware of her poetically for years. I think I initially became aware of her through the Dusie Kollektiv, which I was involved with for several years, which was a truly wonderful, unique, creative, incredibly poetic, individualistic, expressive experience. I've read several of Marthe Reed's chapbooks and they still exist within my home space. I am aware of her Black Radish Books. I've seen and briefly met her in person at a writing conference I attended. I don't remember what we might have said to each other, which upsets me. Online, I've heard her read with my poetic collaborator j/j hastain - Marthe Reed and j/j hastain were poetic collaborators too. I truly appreciate Marthe Reed's long term genuine poetic passion and ongoing poetry flow.  I feel sad that she's passed away too soon and I feel for those who knew her on a more in depth personal level. I am glad that her poetry will live on.

Sometimes I feel like I don't communicate enough on a personal emotional level, in large part because I tend towards becoming overly emotional, to the extent that loss devastates me.

But then I worry that my reluctance to express feelings about death on a personal level aside from art/poetry might cause it to seem as if I am just ignoring death and I am not.

***

Sometimes when I try my best to express my true feelings in the moment, I end up ruining things.

But sometimes if I don't express myself, I feel too close to approaching stagnation. 

Semi-panic and semi-beyond...

I might delete this post of mine soon because I don't know that there's a particularly legitimate point in semi-publicly posting it - but other than the poetry/art stuff, most of what I choose to share is focused on my own thoughts/feelings - and me thinking out loud to help me clarify my own thoughts/feelings, because that's what I've done for years, because if I'm not expressing myself on a one on one basis, then I'm trying to express myself by writing out some of my thoughts/feelings.

My brain has been too frequently on the brink of panic lately.

I don't think there's any particular reason for the panic, other than my own brain glitches. Or another way to put it is that even though certain things might accidentally catalyze my panicky feelings, once I suddenly/semi-randomly get into one of my more panic prone modes, it's nobody's fault. It's nobody's fault that sometimes my brain is more prone to panic than other times. It's not even my own fault, because I don't intentionally cause my brain to get panicky and I don't want to be so panic prone and I don't purposely focus on things that might trigger panic.

But I also don't want to just ignore things just because they might trigger panic. But sometimes I have to tone down my focus on certain things. And if that causes certain people to feel as if I'm not on their side and thus think less of me, then so be it. Most of us don't know all the details of all our online friends and how their brains work and why. I think some people seem to make assumptions too easily. I don't make assumptions quickly or easily at all. Maybe that makes me some sort of a screwball.

Once the panic starts, the panic is largely illogical. When I have an actual panic attack, the logical part of my brain still exists but has to use a large amount of energy to try to convince the illogical part of my brain that this isn't entirely real, that I'm probably not going to suddenly die or be killed. That my artery is probably NOT going to explode, have another aneurysm, and make me immobile, inexpressive, borderline non-existent to the point of being an un-real variation of the real me. I want to be the real me, flaws and all.

I try my best to stay logical (or logical in my own way). But I can't always control my own brain's defaults. For over 20 years, I've had these different time frames in my life where I'm more prone to more panic/panic attacks than usual. I could theorize about the reason(s), but I don't want to focus on that right now.

I will say that even though there's not very many people in my life that I can regularly talk to in terms of genuinely expressing myself on an ongoing, in-depth, one-on-one basis, about ANYTHING and EVERYTHING I want to talk about, filled with glitches, contradictions, mixed feelings, speed racing thoughts, emotional outbursts, weirdo-isms, yelling jags, crying jags, giggle-fests, and an odd personality that most people probably wouldn't be interested in handling for very long, I am very glad that I have my main man who will listen to anything I have to say, anytime I want to say it, and who actually likes it

(There WAS a legitimate reason for this post. It took a while, but I went from feeling like I was on the brink of another panic attack to feeling smiley-faced about Darryl, even though he swears too much).

Sometimes I worry that even though I FEEL like I have depth, maybe I'm not expressing my own depth to the extent that I think I am. Maybe I just FEEL the depth, but it's mostly stuck inside my own head and the stuff that comes out is basically just repetitive.

Non-cliched expression

I seem to be in the midst of this phase lately in which I'm wondering what defines me and what is important to me and why.

I know poetry and art are very important and meaningful to me (and whether or not they're important and meaningful to others doesn't matter all that much to me) and I also know that even others who ARE into poetry and art are not all going to relate to mine (which is fine). 

For years, I thought that poetry and art AND communication were very important and meaningful to me, but lately I seem to be questioning the communication part of the matter more than usual.

I mean, on one hand, I like expressing myself and hearing others express themselves, BUT casual conversation tends to annoy me and lately, I seem to be having more annoyed streaks and feeling like I don't relate to all that many people and wondering what is the point of spending my time communicating with people I don't even relate to very much, when I could be spending that time reading, writing, thinking, and communicating more with myself.

I think communication with oneself is meaningful. Exploring one's own mind is relevant. I think too many people just stick with their minds basics and go with the flow and those are the type of people I'm tired of wasting my time communicating with. 

I'll gladly continue to communicate with other people who are driven to thinking, feeling, creating, and expressing, but those who are prone to rambling out cliches without even thinking about it? Maybe they should ramble their cliches in someone else's direction instead of mine.

*

About me and nonfiction writing (other than communication via emailing,  blogging, and "social networking" - realms in which I'm sometimes quite prolific and sometimes not),  I don't read much nonfiction at all (other than book reviews and nonfictional commentary by or about poets), in part because of serious memory issues and also because I have serious trouble organizing/arranging/revising longer work. Heck, even turning some of my poetry into a full-length manuscript is quite a lengthy undertaking, but...I guess that would be different with fiction or nonfiction, since it wouldn't involve deciding how to order the poems, and since the content would have some sort of more standard order, but...

Then that brings me to the whole, how in the hell can my content be positioned in a standard order?  I'm not standard, I'm not logically ordered, and I'm pretty OCD with my own ordering and positioning.

It did cross my mind a few years ago, when a few people were suggesting to me that perhaps I should consider writing a nonfiction book about my carotid artery dissection/aneurysm/stroke/divorce etc... but I don't know how I'd arrange such a manuscript. I have a lot of files on my computer and on paper on that subject matter (personal notes, journal entries, notes to others, notes from others, video of me trying to read, etc...), but the thing is, the re-reading, revising, arranging, organizing process would have to be my full focus for a few years and do I really want to set aside all other writing (including poetry, which is very expressively important to me) and art and submitting and publishing in order to focus on assembling a nonfiction book about my stroke? 

Sometimes I wish my reading and writing and creative process was a little faster and more multi-task prone, but it's not. 

Half my computer is masses of unorganized notes of expression and communication that I saved for valid reasons, but there's so many that I'll never be able to organize them, unless organization is most of what I focus on in life - and who wants to focus on organizing the old and not creating any new?

Not long ago though (i.e. sometime last year), I did finally finish working a personal nonfiction story into a prose poem (I called it that, because I wasn't sure what to call it - it was poetic language in prose form) that got published and then nominated for a Best of the Net in nonfiction. It was based on something that had happened well over ten years ago, that I finally managed to work into a piece of creative writing that I actually liked (when I first started trying to work on it, it made me feel like puking and was WAY over the top, so I finally just had to set the content aside for years, until I could re-work it from a somewhat less emotional trauma puke-fest). I'm glad I finally finished that piece, but like I said, it was based on something that happened over ten years ago and it just ended up being a three page piece.

So who knows how long it might take me to even really dive into book length nonfiction based on the stroke/divorce stuff that happened five years ago.

And also, what is with the speed racing of time?!? AAAH!

Dear Anonymous,

I’m not really sure why I’m investing some of my time/thought/energy/effort into commenting upon this, since you are apparently just an anonymous fuckwad. I guess it’s mainly because I don’t understand the point/power/pleasure of anonymity.  What's the pointed pleasure of posting a rude random little comment under one of my blog posts? What the heck is the point of an ‘Anonymous’ person typing me a random blurb informing me that my art sucks and I should stick to writing?

Since you’re ‘Anonymous’ and I don’t know who you are, why should I CARE about your perspective on art?  As far as sticking to my writing, have you even read any of that?  Are you a writer? Are you an artist? I do have interest about other peoples’ perspectives on art and poetry if  they are artists or writers; if I am somewhat familiar with their tastes and style; if I like their art or writing and/or if I even KNOW the person. But you’re just an ‘Anonymous’ person who for some reason felt the need to inform me, “Those look terrible. Stick to writing” and “Your art still sucks”.  Gee, thanks a bundle for the impressive critique via anonymous feedback in the form of a random negative meaningless blurt.  Do you get off on randomly making fun of people? If so, get your vibe out and at least make fun of me more creatively and artistically.

To me, an anonymous negative blurb is akin to randomly making fun of someone you don’t even know as opposed to actually openly expressing your thoughts/feelings/perspectives in any valid or valuable way. It’s not even personal expression so much as a pointless barb in a general direction.  I have enough true feelings of pointlessness in my life.  I don’t need pointless anonymous uncreative darts added to the mix.

Of course my little creations are not going to appeal to everyone. The two pieces upon the blog post you commented below are not my idea of powerful art so much as semi-artsy fun little Halloween-y treats that some people might find amusingly enjoyable.  I like them; I took the time to paint them; I have one hanging on my fridge.  I’m certainly not forcing anything into anonymous mouths. Even when it comes to more imperative art and writing, not everything is going to suit everyone’s style – and I’m not aiming for mainstream mass appeal – and I sure as heck don’t care whether or not I appeal to anonymous blog commenting dipshits.

We all have our blurbs and blurts and jealous-streaked brambles. I sure do. But at least I attempt to express mine instead of anonymously blurting and carelessly spitting them out via random streaks behind people’s backs.

Making a generic little comment supposedly related to art or writing does not seem to mesh forth from true creative flow.  If you have input about and/or issues with my art or personal expression (or anything else about me) that you really feel the need to express, then why don’t you specify it and express yourself? I guess it’s not a valid issue so much as a generic little pinch.  I don’t like generic random pinches, so even an anonymous mean streak creep is receiving multiple paragraphs from me in return.