Picking through some fragments

The other day, I spent the day going through some aborted attempts at poetry, some ideas typed out… and some fragments of prose. I also finally finished Ghost Rider by Neil Peart… thanks in part to a banged up thumb that kept me from either painting or from playing video games. I was able to see something in one poem and I salvaged it and posted it here on the blog. Another bit I posted, although I don’t know where it was going…

And then there was the rest of it. Some sad. Some very angry. A bit of profanity. And then some strange preachy stuff… verses and slivers of thoughts on God. They were little snatches of emotions… snapshots and glimpses of moments and attempts to articulate thoughts that didn’t lend themselves easily to words, other attempts to sort things out that still didn’t make much sense then or now… There is some that sounded like griping and whining. (“Get over it” he said, “It’s been over a year.”) More recent complaints about some random asshole who not only told me that Ethan was better off dead, he actually offered me Bible verses along with his self righteous and sanctimonious bullshit. I didn’t want my response to sound like I hated God… or that I thought all Christians were stupid jerks… but this dude… well he was and probably is by all objective standards, an asshole.

And I did complain about idiots that I argue online… that weren’t clever or funny, and who didn’t make the effort to argue the issue, but rather depended on personal attacks. One of them was related to some stupid and insensitive that happened to coincide with a fairly angry period anyway… and being at the emotional point where I didn’t care if I actually won or lost a fight, I was at least entertaining the thought of physical violence. I don’t particularly want to sound psychotic or violent. I don’t actually intend to hurt anyone… and as much as anger is there and there is angry moments, I’m not terribly angry. I’m not mad at anyone in particular…

One passage seemed like it wasn’t even me. Some of it sounded terribly ungrateful. Selfish. Stupid little pity parties… I guess grief and intense emotion can make you sound 12 or 8 or 3 years old.

I kind of wish I had the room to spread them out and sort through it a bit more… but I think I’ve determined that especially with poetry… that not all of it is worth sharing. I also thought about simply copying it all into one very long meandering “poem” and letting everyone else figure it out… I was thinking that it would have been effectively representative of the complex mix of emotions, at the jumble and confusion… the ineffable pain and intense feelings… sublime stuff… process, not product.

But I was uncomfortable with the fact that most of it… didn’t really work. Cliches… tired phrases… attempts at rhyme or alliteration that didn’t work. Cussing that seemed forced or random… or just stupid. Stuff that sounded stilted or fake… Christian babble… Most of it so bad that it didn’t even take me back to any particular moment or emotion…

There was something that spoke of Job and seemed like maybe it could go somewhere if it didn’t sound sappy and like I was comparing myself with Job… and another that had this line, “No, I’m not okay, it isn’t going to be okay, don’t you fucking get it?”

So I guess some things are better left on the cutting room floor. The scary thing is that as bad as some of the writing that made the blog… there are quite a few posts that were even worse….

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