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. 

My uncertainty will last forever

Other than the fact that I like poetry and art and expression, I can never seem to figure out/decide/stick with where my focus should be, even in those realms I like i.e. what should I do more of, what should I do less of, and why?

Often I think I should read and write more - and socialize less, but I’ll admit I sometimes feel jealous of writers who seem to have tons of writer/artist friends and lots of time to spend with them.  How do they connect with so many people? How do they find enough time to write?

Despite having a decent amount of time to focus on whatever I choose to focus on by myself, I sometimes feel lonely, un-liked, un-likable.

Often I think that I should spend less time promoting my creative work – and maybe even less time submitting it.  Then I think if I don’t submit it, get it published, and promote it, then hardly anybody is going to know about it and be able to read it.  Then I think even if I do promote it, hardly anyone reads it.  Maybe if I’m promoting myself a lot, people have a hard time focusing on what it is I’m promoting and thus pay less attention.

I don’t know.  Maybe I should just sort of continue on with the way I tend to fluctuate between focusing on this more, that more, this more in mutant circles – but sometimes my head hurts and I’m not sure if I’m doing anything right, anything important, anything that matters to anyone – and I don’t know who to ask, except for myself, but even my own opinions fluctuate in those warped semi-circle shapes. 

Maybe I need a doppelganger to talk to, share thoughts/feelings/opinions with, hang out with, do certain things for me, and do certain things with me.  Unless that doppelganger was even more mutated than the current twisting me.

Condom Dream (should I open the jar and pull some out?)

Me and a woman I went to high school with walked to the door of a store to buy condoms.  Two men were with us too, but they weren’t our significant others or sex partners, just casual male friends standing behind us and despite their presence, we were in charge of our own condom choosing and buying.

The other woman knew what she was doing, had obviously interacted with the costumer service man before and even had a semi-secret code word related to her condom purchase.  As for me, this was my first time buying condoms – and since I wasn’t buying them with a particular partner in mind (because I didn’t have a partner), I had no idea what brand or variety to choose.  I was asked what size I wanted and how should I know?  I was asked if I wanted any special features and I didn’t know that either.

Since I wasn’t buying condoms with a particular cock in mind, I said standard size.  The other woman had spoken softly, and when she told him what she wanted, he was standing right in front of her; but when I was asked what I wanted, he was standing across the room next to the various condom accoutrements and so I had to loudly announce (almost yell) my uncertain answer in front of the whole store.

Then I got brought a huge jar-sized contraption (about triple the size of a mayo jar), with hundreds of condoms inside, all of them unpackaged and tiny. Less than half the size of an un-blown up balloon.  I wasn’t sure if I was handed this large jar with tiny condoms because he thought I wanted to buy the whole jar or if I was supposed to take off the lid and pull out the amount I actually wanted.

The woman next to me knew what she wanted and quickly got what she always got.

The two men behind us just stood there saying nothing and waiting for me to be done.

I’m not an easily embarrassed person; sex talk doesn’t bother me.  But I am a very uncertain person and I felt uncomfortable and slightly embarrassed about myself for not having a helpful partner (or any partner for that matter), not knowing what to do or choose when handed a huge container full of tiny condoms, and feeling like a clueless condom gimp.

A clueless sex, love, relationship gimp.

An odd little dream based on my current uncertainty about all those things.

MIXED FEELING MESS (some thoughts that emerged during a recent poetry interview)

I was recently working on answering a series of interview questions related to my POST-STROKE poetry chapbook (Blood Pudding Press for Dusie Kollektiv 5, 2011). That chapbook was the first new poetry collection to be written and created by me after my stroke, which happened early in 2010.  I had a tough time dealing with questions about it at this point in time, and so I needed to write some of my challenging thoughts/feelings out of my system before focusing on the specific interview points of view.  I will share those thoughts/feelings here on my blog – and then later, when the interview is posted on the Poet Hound blog, I will link to that.

Within the last few years, I have been a mixed feeling mess, about myself and others and life in general.  It’s hard for me to figure out and decide what I ought to be focusing on (aside from my poetry and art stuff) – and it’s hard for me to believe that anyone will be deeply interested in and able to tolerate me, except in small, short term doses. From family members to friends and even to significant others, I feel as if I’m not right for anyone anymore. I feel as if some people seem to think that I’ve focused on my health issue too much; whereas other people seem to think I don’t focus on it enough and should be more diligently making ongoing efforts at increased possible recovery.  For example, my ex-husband was tired of hearing about it after just a couple months – but then the next man I became seriously involved with after my divorce seemed to think I didn’t pay enough attention to my health, as if I should be primarily focused on that for as long as it took, even if it took the rest of my remaining existence.

I want others to allow me to make my own choices and to like me for WHO I AM. 

Not for whom I used to be – and not for whom they think I should try to be, by spending the majority of my time and energy and effort on repeatedly having my brain tested and scanned and researched and possibly improved upon in the midst of never ending medical stress.

Well anyone ever again appreciate and love me for WHO I AM RIGHT NOW?

(It hurts me thinking that the answer is probably know – that I’m not a very likable person – that I’m not good enough or fun enough or otherwise appealing enough anymore.)

On the poetry side of the spectrum, I am well aware of and understand that there are all different kinds of poetry out here – that some people will accept your style and some people will reject your style – that nobody’s creative work is going to be everyone else’s style. Personally, I’ve never aimed for main stream appeal or bill fitting poetry or vanilla snack pack pudding poetry (thus, why my press is named Blood Pudding Press). 

Despite being well aware of different styles and different tastes (and not caring whether I fit into them all), I got a bit bummed recently, in regards to a note I received from a press I had sent a query too, about whether they might be interested in partaking of my full-length poetry manuscript. My query had included a brief note letting them know how the title of my manuscript derived from my stroke – and then I also sent them three sample poems. 

They wrote back informing me that they thought the subject matter of my collection was too specific and might not warrant mass appeal, however they wished me health.  Well, of the three sample poems I had sent them, only one of those had been written after my stroke. It’s not like all of my poems focus on the subject matter of health or brain disabilities – and it’s not like my poetic subject matter has an obvious approach anyway.  My poetic content and style has never been very clear cut content wise.  If because of that, it doesn’t mesh well with their press’s style, then fine.  But don’t assume that the bulk of my poetic content and style is related to my stroke, just because I had a stroke and revealed that part of my book’s title derived from that. 

After reading that editorial response, I felt as if maybe I should change my manuscript’s title and remove every tidbit of my health background from my credits section - because when it comes to my poetry, I don’t wish to give the impression of being predominantly health-focused – because I’m not.  I want to be creatively poetry-focused – because I am.

However, I also don’t want to downright ignore or avoid significant parts of my life, as if they never really happened or barely exist within my brain - or not focus on them at all within my creative realm.  Thus, I honestly have found my health issue rather tricky in real life AND in my poetry life. My health issue did not largely change my poetry reading and writing style (except for slowing them down) – but my poetic content is mentally/emotionally based and the health issue certainly had an impact on those parts of me.

I’m pleased that I am still able to creatively express my thoughts/feelings/emotions/ideas through odd oodles of non-mainstream poetry. If I wanted to be a different kind of writer who was predominantly focused on my health issue, then perhaps I’d move away from poetry and try to focus on writing a real life story about my issues.  But guess what? That’s not what I want to focus on right now.

Still though, along such lines, when an interview I’m participating in is focused on my stroke, I do find myself wondering if most poets might not even be interested in reading this, because they’ll think its focus will be more about health than about art – and thus it will be rather boring and something that they’re just not particularly interested in.