a casting out of spirits

not many people want to read someone’s piece about how they are tired. it’s the end of the day and I’m more tired than 11 or 12 o’clock can make me. I need the kind of change that possibly a vacation could bring. my tired is something more serious than aches and pains by midweek. in gaps of moments, I feel ill at-ease, discomfort, uncertainty.

I try to be as silent as possible. written words come fumbling out. the journal is here for me to write all over it. today I did this. today this and that happened. I was a polite witness. today is reserved for doing this thing called a poetry reading. some of what I observed was a typical style of delivery that intends to impress an audience. “I’m so deep and word-spun. let me soak up the lime light.” today I noticed how tired I am of impressing people in flashy ways like this. the dilemma is that I do like to write, and I want it to stick with people, but I almost have to write as if human beings don’t exist, so that ego doesn’t interfere.

a public journal can become a nice mix of shouting and quiet notes of late night grumbling. snotty people can throw these pages over their shoulder for all I care. it’s going to come down to more poetry and that poetry transforming along the way — into something more alive, that will, on occassion, kick people in the balls, and on others, smack them upside the head with dud bottle rockets. there’s still a lot of writing out there that can entertain you like a movie theatre. I don’t know if I’m somehow going to become a part of that, or just remain a fan. I know for certain I will always be a fan.

I’m putting
it out there
as they say
inviting changes
some of which
will be beautiful
others painful
but essential
inevitable
scary changes
on the edge
always

a love of
writing
talking back
to myself
saying
“I’m seeing
some superficiality
in you
and you’ve gotta
get beyond it”

I know
it’s sobering,
brother

are you saying
what you’re
searching for
is to be
sincere?
I think that is it!
so sincere
it hurts . . .
which does
not mean
I want to
be
sickeningly
nice
and force
feed guests
canned food
each and every
visit . . .

silence wished into this to create a certain state of mind. I need to hear myself think. I need to find my deeper self continually. that self finds its energy and barely sleeps.

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