Now I know why I used to say that, and what it hid.
On True Love and Its Essential Value
and turned again
to that (now faded)
portrait of you, a bust…
You are so much
a part of me
there is no place
i can say, you began…
And i knew this, that there
was no forgetting.
I knew that then.
I did not hold. I let go.
and turned again
to your portrait…at length, for a while, i manage to
Actually quite true–except for having a bust. I have no pictures of her at all, unless memory counts. It happened–that year did–about 38 years ago. I try not to think of her, and when I do, it is as if (to others) I were having an ‘absence seizure’ or petit mal. Some paths you may only walk once, and expect afterwards unending echoes, so to speak.
And how could I do aught else? I’d even said I loved her. I’m trying to learn that phrase again with my brother. Before that, my adopted mother, who would cherish the phrase for a moment and then think of something cruel to do; I even had witnesses. Oh, and I had to say it, or I wasn’t being dutiful. Before that…more to forget. Nice to have actually forgotten some things. Oh well. Things happen; we all occasionally live “in interesting times.”
No, I won’t be doing that solely. However, I do have rather a large volume of poetry that I spent enough energy attempting to publish by conventional means. I can’t judge whether anyone will be interested or not; my guessing mechanism is broken on that one. There are too many streams of cause on that one. More fun to read something easy, sometimes. There are so many sources of information and entertainment that competition is in a real sense meaningless. I spent a long while pretending to be (apparently the act wasn’t successful to anyone who was near me) unintelligent and obscure. Being noticeable wasn’t part of the plan, which meant I really didn’t want publication on one hand.
Right now I’m trying to assimilate 50 years of thought or so into a small, manageable form. Relatively small. I can go back and do the research. Most has been done; I just need as a start to predict and then check–I can go back and do the research.
The start of the years of thought was that I trusted neither determinism nor free will and most of all not absolute predestination [Calvinism]. Pure free will didn’t seem available. Determinism (behaviorism) didn’t work, although that could be because of the fact that it assumed the identity principle. Which seemed ridiculous once formally stated to me. I was challenged by a teacher on that one; it seems I’m stubborn and quite persistent.
We’ve waited for hours
in this dusky, dusty place.
Anger and fear
are mixed in our breasts
as we wait on,
kneeling, heads bowed. (Perhaps
is hardest to bear. I think
this cracked patch
have been my life
as I wait
The personal pronoun, unusually, is capitalized, but it seems fitting. I generally don’t use it simply because English is the one and the only for many things, but I think most irritatingly for this; it capitalizes the personal pronoun.
Sorry, I’ve actually been busy with my family in fairly pleasant ways to extremely pleasant. Spouses can have rough spots that require sanding. That might be self-administered, spousal ‘maintenance’ read spouse abuse or shadows of various sorts. Veterans of all wars I think bear those shadows. And being close to death just does that, as does dying. At least it has been a while since I was dying voiceless in the night, knowing that I was fighting to regain control of my body. That’s not a good feeling.
I intend to spend more time on the blog for more than one reason. One is that I’ll simply get “voices‟ published. The ‘easy’ way.
having hesitated by a field,
overgrown and rocky
we found our path suddenly obscured and sat to ponder
us, and our selves, and
our paths lay different ways…
and then (humanly if not naturally)
each blamed the other
and set our separate courses,
i pursuing that perhaps illusive beast enlightenment,
and you went (you had to go)
to peace, to some security.
…i pause often by that field.
–not with regret, nor even
with real deliberation, without care for was and why
i pause often by that field,
and watch the shadows change.
(Such tangled webs we weave!)
I’ll be detailing how to get a copy of voices in various fashions, the most expensive of which would make me actually drop everything and get it converted yet again. It’s a big collection of poems which mutated into a picture type .pdf somehow with the bloody upgrades. I finally found a word processor which allows me to break it down or…if pressed…to actually bulk-edit the whole ms. Which I simply won’t change the writing on again, but the conversion does introduce things like extraneous spaces. Those I will work on, with a stick–so to speak.
THIS IS A RACIALLY PREJUDICED BLOG.
I’ve met him. My actual half-brother. I’m rather in shock, having been an only child for nearly 63 years. The x amount of them is also in a tad of unprepared reaction, never having suspected that good old Dad (!) might have snuck off into the bushes while in Germany. *I actually don’t remember if I was told what the venue was, but places to stay for Americans with money weren’t that hard to find just then. I never have understood her shame about the whole incident. He couldn’t have known, and I was in the “third trimester and so it was too late” to abort me. Her last years were filled with repeated litanies of “I’m so glad I couldn’t have you aborted!!” One of the things this means is that she didn’t even realize she missed a period or three and by then he was long gone. Her knowledge of him was that he’d killed a taxi driver in a drunken fight in Berlin and was sentenced to San Quentin. Or so she said. My mother proved to be quite the liar, by choice.
He seems to have affection for .. Dad … and I haven’t heard about his mother one way or the other. And…I can’t do this. However, family. What a shock.
on a rather sick day. Internal bleeding can be felt in the latter stages. I’ll be going to see a neurologist soon; he may decide to change my medications. According to my last neurologist my next seizure will be it. I died a few times in that hospital and I was being kept ‘alive’ for quite a while.
I shouldn’t have had a fit of anger and burst out at my father’s descendants because I didn’t understand what was going on. There is also a growing sense of little time left. I have a nearly finished hypothesis regarding language (as distinct from a representative system), society and social adaptation. I left the establishment there because there was an ongoing attempt to put the vein of thought into preexistent theories, and because of the very nature of it. I’m not going into what comprised years of thought nor even claim it was worthwhile except possibly to me. I destroyed my notes, most of my poetry and most of my fictional work, in an ongoing fashion.
Sorry and I will be able to write more and more cheerfully later, some other day, whatever. Right now I cannot.