25 April 2012

Here I stand
At the edge of an abyss
Nothing but stars above
With certain uncertainty below

At borders I live —
Anxious and afraid
of moments missed
and of melodies mangled

Over the brink I peer —
Childhood behind me
Ambiguous ‘adulthood’ ahead
Familiar guideposts fallen away

Nowhere to go but down
Eyes open, or eyes closed —
The only decision that’s mine
Time to leave the blanket behind.

03 May 2012

It’s been an emotional couple of days, with it all coming to a (hopefully) cathartic head last night.

And this morning, as always after a moment of intense emotional response, I feel calm, peaceful — steady. My breathing becomes even. My thoughts are unhurried and I’m able to weight and savor each one fully before advancing to the next.

It’s a feeling of wordless clarity. And in these moments I find the most peace, regardless of all the other burdens in my life.

I’m learning to let myself experience each moment and not to run. My emotions are there, whether I acknowledge them or not. I’m finally ready to feel them through.

And these moments of serenity are precious. I’m finished bulldozing over them because they don’t help me with my to-do list, which isn’t really true anyway. They help with sanity.
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25 April 2012

This is a project I’ve been mulling over for weeks, and have been putting off until post-graduation. Well, I say fuck it. My brain’s been running wild with ideas, and I’m beginning to remember what it feels like to have so much creative energy that I can’t do anything without relieving it first.

It’s going to be messy. I haven’t written seriously in ages. Especially creatively. Thoughtful essays are by far my preferred style and, while there will certainly be a fair amount of those here, it’s time to PLAY.

I remember in elementary and middle school when I would write for the sheer thrill of bringing my ideas to life, delighting over interesting turns of phrase. Somewhere along the way, I fell in love with literature, and learned to be afraid.

As a child, anything is possible. Then you grow up & get acquainted with real talent, usually when you’re most insecure.

I stopped writing with the conviction I could never possibly be as good as the greats, so why try?

Well, 15 year old me, I call bullshit on your ass.

Even so, these last 9 years haven’t been for nothing. I’ve read wonderfully inspiring prose. Prose that leaves my fingers itching for a pen.

I had to learn humility and appreciation for the greats, and I’m glad I did.

But now it’s time to play — and acknowledge that unlike before it won’t be fearless. But that’s okay — fear can be defeated.

I also let go of the worry of audience. There is a small circle of people I might (read: probably will) allow to read this, but this exercise in experimentation is mostly my own. Should anything further come of it, I’ll find a penname.

I don’t even know if authors still use those, but one of my biggest hindrances lately has been a feeling of self-censorship of content, not wanting friends & family to read too much into my works, and not wanting to worry about them uncovering something about me & my life I would rather remained buried.

But I also don’t want to have forbidden topics. I need to be free in my experiments.

And what are those experiments?
* Poetry
* Short Stories
* Vignettes

I am interested in playing with both form & content so both work together to convey an idea or theme.

I will write in pen & may return to and rewrite pieces @ any point. This is to preserve the evolution & process.

I will make notes on parts I like & don’t like & why, as well as what I was trying to achieve.

Finally, I will discuss fears, anxieties & joys surrounding the process and experimentation as I go.

It’s time to let go of the fear.
It’s time to be what I’ve always wanted.
Warts and all.