i keep getting flashbacks
to times on vacation
and driving in a car
and i wonder if that’s when i’m most living in the moment?
do i, [as a sagittarius?] need more variety in order to feel present in the present?
is that why morning poems are starting to feel stale?
is that why i can’t seem to accomplish new things in my little acting closet?
do i just need to add a new element every time?
the stool helped, definitely…
would a visual *something* help too?
would my writing poems to different music
or after food
or on the couch
or something something something else
be *good* for me?
for my constant need for adventure
[in these days, still, of a global phenomenon]
writing
August 13, 2021
i wish i could find a *thing*
that helped me all the damn time
i have writing
until my mind is too scattered to make any sense of
the thoughts flickering in and out of my brain
i have embroidery and sewing
the fiber arts
until my hand is shaking so much
through an excess of energy
that it seems unintelligent
to have me anywhere near needles
painting could be my
saving grace
calming state
area of expression
but the minute i pick up a brush
i remember how bad i [think i] am at art
and the frustration comes back
ten fold
and i’m still at odds with myself.
[this would be the perfect time
to try to find
a meditation that works for me
but something about my agitation
makes remembering meditation
a near-impossible cogitation
but maybe
today
i will]
August 12, 2021
i’d like to turn the difficult times
into beautiful poetry,
paint prose with words,
tie them up in rhythm, rhyme, and scansion.
i’d like to take the lovely times
and create gorgeous works
from them too,
burst forth with novel metaphors,
capture the moments,
the meadows,
with similes and allegories and alliteration
but instead
i feel
stuck
i feel
restless
i feel like i’m best
at
turning the mundanity
into humorous
but still mundane
poetry
and i suppose i should be okay with that
but i just kind of want
more
August 9, 2021
every time i type the word August
i read it in my head as august
like the adjective
like distinguished and respected,
impressive and esteemed;
contemplating the connection
between the month and the prestigiousity
[and i know full well
that the month comes from the person,
the Augustus of it all,
but, i mean, another few synonyms
for the adjective
are distinguished, high ranking, exalted, noble,
imperial,
and i think, though they may [or may not] have been connected
linguistically
in the past,
they just might be connected again
now…]
August 8, 2021
finding the perfect music station
is an art
(one i’m not nearly as familiar with
as my spouse)
and so when i’m doing my morning pages/poems
without them
(because sleep is a necessity)
and have to find some morning tunes
on my own
i never land on
what i initially think i’ll land on…
at least there’s coffee.
~~~
so hungry
but i’m not used to eating while writing
i eat and suddenly i want
passive entertainment
it seems this old dog needs to learn a couple new tricks
~~~
if i leave
and come back
will i keep the thread of morning poetry?
~~~
fed,
caffeinated,
[not yet watered],
and i feel so much better able to
really get into these here morning page poems
is this what i *should* be doing each morning?
instead of simply sipping coffee
and waiting until after i write to eat my breakfast?
or is this simply a daily thing
that changes around
and adjusts
as my own outlook
and mood
and level of tiredness
adjusts
day
by
day
by
day
?
~~~
i mean, if i’m going to be writing a million small poems
(and by a million, let’s be honest and say probably six)
might as well just
truly
go for it.
~~~
the nerves are starting to settle in
about class later on today
(this is why i enjoyed having a circus class prior to acting class
yes, i never got to nap,
but i also never spent half the day worrying about/obsessing over my performance)
i like how our teacher sets up the class
you perform, and then she asks what goals you had for that particular scene or monologue
and this week i’m simply hoping to continue the work
that suddenly broke free two weeks ago.
i want to breathe into the monologue,
i want to be in the moment,
and i want to use my own self-loathing
to create art
instead of beating myself down all the time.
and yes, the ultimate goal is health
and possibly, someday, not constantly feeling like the most worthless hunk of flesh on the planet,
but while that’s what it’s like in my brain,
might as well be honest
and use it to connect with this character i’ve been [not so secretly] wanting to play for ages,
and maybe if i can connect while i’m in the throes of
not-so-great mental health
maybe that means i can find my way in
when i am in a healthier mental state
remember the physical sensations
without being too harsh…
maybe?
but today isn’t about how to get there down the road
that’s not the goal today;
it’s to be in the present
to breathe into the moment
to know that i have all this inside me
and relax
and trust
and simply let myself shine through.
August 2, 2021
what to write
in these morning pages poetries
the cuffs on my sleeves are long
and tight
and the tightness in my chest is just a little bit looser
today
but i don’t wanna jinx it
(i never want to jinx it)
because we’re still waiting to hear back
and i’m still trying to get over my own shit in my own head
and the thread of this poem is slowly fraying
and i’m praying
(though i never pray)
(so much so that i have to look up whether it’s ‘prey’ or ‘pray’)
that someday i’m able to ride this roller coaster of life
inside one of the cars
instead of fishtailing off the last contraption
caught
and desperately catching
at
anything that passes me by
but it’s wizzing past too fast
and i can’t seem to grasp
anything for long enough to remember it by
so my memory is filled with blurry images
and the feeling in my stomach as we rise and free-fall and whip around corners and tumble and zoom and loop-the-loop and…
and…
and the longer i think about this
the more i realize
roller coaster as life is a cliché for a reason
the slow beginning
each year clicking by
taking an eternity
waiting for something to actually start
childhood
the track
set straight
controlled
and just when you think you have your shit figured out
just when you think you’re ready for the freedom
the track continues to box you in
but the pace is uncontrollable
and yes there are moments throughout
that aren’t quite as fast
but none of them are ever as slow
as the beginning
(except, maybe, the end)
and i’m trying not to think that i’ve discovered something crazy new,
that i’ve come upon flame for the first time
that i’m inventing the wheel
or anything like that
but it sure makes sense
and maybe those two cents on life
will help my brain sense of why i constantly feel so out of control
i need to control other parts of my being
with such a tight fist.
August 1, 2021
i don’t know how
i knew it was approaching
the end of july
but somehow didn’t remember
next comes august,
because as soon as i see the date
my stomach turns
and my heart palpitates
and i start worrying about the summer reading i only half finished
and the schedule i need to complete
and the downhill roller coaster snowball out of control truck
that is
School.
even though it was only public school that started in august,
and i haven’t even been enrolled in a school for eight and a half years,
there’s a trauma that’s associated with
the educational system here
and it teaches us more
about how to be uncomplaining drone workers
than anything critical thinking
enjoyment of learning
sort of thing
and any amount of years of higher education
won’t help us recover
from 12+ years
of…that…
and i do call it a trauma,
though nothing about it was grossly traumatic,
because if your body reacts to a thing as a trauma
it is.
~~~
don’t know if i want to be so dramatic as to post that
implication and bias and only a half-way understanding of how our american educational system was actually built
but i do believe my therapist when she tells me that if something feels like trauma in your body, it is,
because our bodies often know more about what’s happening than our brains
which is why sometimes it’s an easy coping mechanism
to divide ourselves from our physical selves
to avoid that confrontation, that knowing,
in order to simply survive one day, one hour, one minute, one second at a time…
~~~
i would watch a movie/tv show
about a villain
who truly believes they’re the hero
and everyone around them insists they are,
they have state of the art gadgets and mentors
[which my autocorrect changed to monsters]
telling them where to fight, and whom,
and they go about their time fully believes they are doing good,
for a solid 7-8 years they feel they’ve done such good
and then, for whatever reason, they have all their gadgets and things taken away,
as well as a fair amount of their people,
but with less people insisting on their heroism,
and more interaction with the world as it really is,
they start to suspect they’ve been the villain all along,
and they get into an artistic expression as a form of therapy
to understand the awful things they’ve done
and they begin to represent the people they’ve hurt
in said artistic endeavor
as a healing,
and though they don’t expect their own personal healing will help the families of those they’re representing,
they try to raise money
(as they are still in the public eye)
to help those families.
a roller coaster ride of a hero/villain/citizen story
a true story of redemption
a cautionary tale of only listening to those on your side
(and of blindly going into the ‘family business’)
and obviously not inspired by any real person or story in our country or society
at all.
July 30, 2021
when pondering
my overthinking
i can often track my issues back
a few layers
and then i get stuck.
“here’s where i am!”
i yell to the universe,
“i’ve figured myself out now,
can i fix myself next?”
they always say
“knowing is half the battle”
but i’ve known for ages.
but when i start to think critically,
instead of with absurd abundance,
i see some more layers underneath
the ones i’ve already detected,
and these are more fragile,
ticking time bombs,
connected to everything
inside my brain/body/spirit,
and this, i think to myself, may be the actual half
of knowing…
but i’m wary of this knowledge
so i’ll be careful,
tip-toe around it,
but at least i’m peaking in
instead of running away
and staying in the layer
that’s comfortable,
that makes sense,
that i feel there is some possibility for change
…this layer has the possibility for healing.
July 29, 2021
switching around apps
to write these morning poems
everything in flux
everything about to happen
and yet
(and yet)
there are still so many mundane days to have
before the just before
July 28, 2021
i’d like
for my poetry
(and my acting, similarly,)
to open up the secret parts of me,
those parts that no one [sometimes not even me] sees
and bring honesty and truth and a dash of the full, elaborate
condition
of humanity
out into the forefront of all our minds
but i find
that i hide behind
humor
and perfectionism
and overthinking
and intellectualism
(but aren’t those a part of me, too?)
how can i find the true me
if it takes a bomb to push through?
that day
in class
when i accessed
what i’ve been trying to for so long,
it wasn’t a push or a force or a bomb
it was a steady ease into the presentness of my body
my mind felt connected,
continually,
for the first time in (give or take) an eternity
so maybe that should be my aim
the gentle
allowance
of self
into my poetry
but how to do that?
[breathe?]
kipventures 