And all the digital distractions, the constant PRESENCE of one more hit, one more drag, one more one more, and our madness itself is mad. As Lao Tzu put it, insanity goes on for a very long time. Who can know where and when it will end for any of us?
I feel that all poetry ought to be bad, just as all art should be folk art. Shelley did not become a good man by writing admired poetry. He left polished shells which really belong in the ocean.
Poetry and song are the footprints you leave on the sand as you walk, which are quickly washed away. It is a sign you were here, that you lived, that you tried.
And there is more poetry in washing dishes well, than in composing epic philosophical rants.
It is quite impossible to know what is there until you look, and few of us do. I’m only beginning to become aware it is possible for me.
It can take a very, very long time to even get to the starting gate. This is learning how to learn, as the Sufis put it.
This blog: it is toxic for me. I feel it. I like to think I have interesting and useful things to say, but the PROCESS of diving into abstraction is, at this moment, not healthy for me. I am an addict–I am the “sort” who finds it hard to reconcile intent with regular action–so I will be back, I am sure, but I have now posted a Note To Self.