quiet the mind
just enough to hear the important thoughts/
the creative thoughts/
the thoughts that are often drowned out
by anxiety rambling
and existential depression blues
there may be creative moments
inside those diatribes
but i’ve heard enough of them to know —
it’s getting past them
that the true me
lies
[in truth]
trying to writing
to finish the thinking
to begin the day
and continuing
and continuing
starting
from finishing
from ending —
a beginning
gibberish poems
can become
gibberish songs
which may be
exactly what i need to do
in order to stop me
from overanalyzing
and overjudging
and overscrutinizing
my own creativity
creativity streams from me
from my fingertips to a computer screen
from my acting choices to an audience’s eyes
from my body on a circus apparatus
and i feel
almost
creative
creation mixes magic
with science
and i think you’ll find
we’re all adept
at both
[if we just believe]
in photography, i have no problem
taking tens
of hundreds
of thousands of photos
knowing that somewhere in there,
there will be a great picture —
gorgeous
experimental
framed well
captured beautifully
and composition, exquisite
and even in poetry, mornings of multitudes,
all my poems
multiple
every morning, i know
not every poem will be great
but somewhere in here
there may be something
to write home about
then why oh why do i shy away from
the writing of prose/novels/
or plays?
as if i need my first try to be
so great
otherwise i should just
give
up
?
is it simply that it takes so much longer to write
longer form, than it does to slap dash down a poem
or capture a second or few
in a non-moving image?
so the effort to output
ratio feels more
[risky]
[or am i so scared of something more/or less scary?]
create
creativity
or you’ll die from
lacking
a human need
certain music makes me certain
there’s magic somewhere in the air
maybe we can’t see it
maybe we can’t know it
but maybe we can feel it
in our core
in our bones
in our soul
where other magic lays in wait
for the perfect moment
to show its face
to provide a fate
out of the ordinary
[what is creativity
if not a magic of the mind?]
creativity
is
as creativity
does
and creativity
does
frustrate me
so it is
frustrating
[i think]
this morning
the pages don’t flow
they flitter
glitter shimmering past my peripheral
if i follow the train of thought
i want
i’ll be leaving this subject matter behind
but what is it i’m trying to find?
am i aiming for polish
for pristine
for perfection
or could it be
the messy/testing/trying out
glitter flittering in and out
dopamine hitting my starved system
will fill it far more than
niceness served for nicety’s sake
who am i kidding?
i am a perfectionist and a completionist
i can aim for both at once
it doesn’t matter that that would require
a physically impossible arrow
more time in the day than is there now
legitimately anything different than what i bear
but now
i can admit my silly ways
my impossible aims
and even if i still want what i literally cannot have
at least i know it
and that’s progress
right?
kipventures 