Would That I Might

I am wondering what I must do to get beyond my current situation, as I have said before, but it feels to be a rather different question now.  In large part, it is driven by a recognition that things in this nation and around the world are in a precarious and unpredictable condition, and trusting the possibility of things that might happen in the future seems foolish.  As well, I am also aware that, for me, the thing I am capable of doing, the form of resistance that I am best suited for, is through my writing, and their is an urgency to that right at this moment.  I feel a pressure building and am terrified of what is to come, but I think what scares me more is the sense that I am not able to at least use the skills I have spent my life building to stand up when it seems to matter most.  I don't know how to take the necessary steps, but I cannot wait around for things to grow darker without doing something, and the only path I know for myself that would feel like I was genuinely ta

There Is A Chance Left but is it much  or just a bit, and maybe it is no chance, is just an illusion that it can be done, like a secret bend in that basket  so the ball will always bounce off at the carnival, but it is not at all a carnival, is nothing to bring prizes, there is no grand victory, nothing great is guaranteed even in victory, is still just more chances, is nothing more than the possibility that a few things can go a bit better than before, but it is still much more, is not because of may be won but because their is so much to be lost.

 I am finding that I am really needing to do a lot of writing at the moment to satisfy myself.  It may well be that I was in a down period and now am restored and finding my long period of pressing to do more and more has altered my creative output in a deeper way.  I am not writing at the same frenzied peak, but I think I have written close to ten poems today, and I also worked on my fiction.  What is more, I am finding that the work seems to be growing and improving.  I am able to consider very specific aspects in ways that would not have occurred to me at one point, and am discovering new ideas and directions all the time. One aspect of this is in terms of my understanding of creating a collection, or, as I am considering it in my current mode, creating a larger composite work that integrates those pieces.  The goal, I am finding, is not only to place the work together, but to use the connections within it to elevate the pieces individually while creating something far more substant

Did You Watch? All the discussion is of what happened, is the question of what was seen and who saw it, not the facts, but the interpretations, who saw which version of the world, watched it with what eyes,  but most would agree it was not worth seeing, it could have been said already what would be seen, no matter the watcher or what they brought, that was agreed, it was easy to see it did not do anything that was necessary for anyone at all, just as expected, just as everyone expected.

In some ways, I am becoming more resistant to the individual rejections I am receiving.  If I get a single rejection, I often will just let it sit without much thought beyond the general, continuing, desire for a clear path forward, but not as anything that is particularly upsetting in any acute way.  Even, I find, a few rejections won't always do a great deal to throw me into a negative loop.  I am still feeling rather driven to get to a point where I am able to get work accepted regularly, and I am not denying that it colors my mood a great deal, but I recognize, as well, that it is often much more cumulative, and may take more for me to really feel that overwhelm.  At the same time, I do not deny, either, that I have the same general negativity that derives from the value I place on getting work published, and that is not anything that has changed, or which I know how to change.  I know I am not going to be able to change this overall without succeeding in my aims.  It may be th

Not Any Longer It is so clear, now it is, but it all seemed possible, reasonable, good even, all of those ideas we spent time pursuing, the hopeful ones that did not relate at all to the world as we can see it is, but we chased them, wanted to find magic, to find something good to make life better, because we did not see the luxury we had, what we were squandering living in a place where we were able to do that, to seek those terrible, stupid things, to waste time that way and not even notice we were doing a thing that was unreasonable, was based on not seeing the real opportunities, that was given to us just so were distracted enough to waste them.

 I am definitely feeling an upswing in my productivity at the moment.  I am writing six or so poems a day, though I am still not keeping a count of it.  I feel that I could be doing more, to be honest, but things are busy, and they will get even busier soon, so I don't feel the desire to press myself that much and then decide I am going too far and need to pull back again when things get crazy and I have no time.  I think I will allow myself to consider writing even more an indulgence, of a sort, which is a new perspective, and perhaps more positive, but I am not, considering it from all angles, certain how much I really can believe that, at some level.  I do believe it is an indulgence and privilege to be able to devote the time to it, in a practical sense, of course, but I mean it here in another, less literal way, as a pleasure, and their is something that seems a bit dangerous to me in considering my approach to writing from that vantage.  That is not to deny that I do enjoy wr

They Know What Is Best They all will call out for it to be the way it must go and the way they say it must is the way it must be, they all know the exact way it needs to go, it must go the way that they say, or it is a disaster, they understand it, though, will master this situation, because they know how bad it might be and are aware of how it must go if we are to avoid those outcomes that could come if we do not go out of our way to avoid them, they know how it must go, they know, and it is important to listen, because they are the ones, the ones who know,  and if not, it will turn out terribly, that is what they know, they know it will go wrong if they do not get their way, because it is always wrong to them if the way it goes is not in their direction, is not what must be if they are to be the ones who decide what must happen and who must get what and who will go when anyone must be caste out.

 I am, once more, feeling rather despondent about my current situation in terms of publishing.  In part, I feel a degree of guilt and stupidity, as I did not start making a serious effort at developing my career when I was younger, though it is silly to think that way.  First, I am certain that the work I am doing now is a result of the studying and training I did during that time.  While it would have been good to be developing a career, I know my focus on understanding language has paid off, and I feel that I would not be doing work close to what I am now if I had not spent a long period focused on becoming a better writer, instead of focusing on publishing and developing commercial work.  The time I spent was not a waste, but the situation I am in often makes me feel as if it was.  What good is it, I will ask myself, to have spent time learning and growing as a writer if I can't get work published?  I know this is not a helpful, or even valid, question, but it comes along, and I

Losses Will the day come when I can again feel that way, or have I seen too much, lost enough and enough that will never return or be replaced?  Must such awareness be eternal and haunting?

I wrote several more poems today, but I didn't keep as close track on the amount at the moment.  It seems to be fine, at least today, and it may work for a bit, but I have a desire to get back on a more regimented schedule.  Is it just a lingering desire or is their a genuine underlying reason?  I am not all that certain, but the fact that I am doing alright today without tracking everything closely feels significant, even if it is not a long term solution.  It has taken me a long while to reach a place where I feel I can trust myself to write enough without needing a specific accounting, though trust may not be the right word.  It is funny to be discussing this, as it probably seems minor, even insignificant, but it feels important in some way for me, as though it is a shift in certain aspects of my thinking around this work, but I still do not entirely believe I would keep on this way.  Some bit of me doubts that I can remain dutiful without a quota to fill.

There Was A Lizard in The House A small one, smaller than my pinky finger, running about, hiding from our giant forms, though I am sure it would prefer to be returned to outdoors that the sun might warm it, it is too cold here inside the house, is not warm as the world outside, but it runs from us, runs beneath chairs or behind a bookshelf, is more scared to let us near than of this place, may not even know enough to tell the danger it is in, that we are only trying to get it back to the world that it knows, the one outside, not this artificial place suited so well to our needs, and not at all for so many others.

 I am beginning to push myself to write more poems each day.  I have been writing at least four, and I know I can press farther than that.  I feel that it is time for me to press myself again in this way, and I think I am going to begin that tomorrow morning.  I know that I sort of wore myself out for a bit, but I never fully stopped writing daily, and I have been doing a lot of other writing as well.  In the end, I am not really certain that their is any specific balance, but I know I work best when I have things planned out.  The bigger question is about how I can be a bit more flexible, without just allowing myself to slack off.  When I have a set amount of work I want to do, I will work and get it done, but I also recognize that it is useful to allow myself a bit of leeway.  A range might work, but I worry I would fall towards the bottom end of it too often.  I could create a plan based around a certain number of poems a week, where I have a minimum for each day and a minimum for t

It Must Be Enough It is fine if you wish to go and see the kitchen, to get down a plate and set a place with fork, napkin, and knife, even a spoon, but the plate will not be filled, it must be enough to sit there and raise an empty fork, that is all tonight, and maybe tomorrow, we do not know about tomorrow.

 I have had a rather upsetting day, highlighted by a rather distressing interaction with my brother and mother this afternoon which has left me feeling extremely hurt.  I don't want to get into the specifics, but I literally said that I wanted to work with my mother to have a better relationship and she told me that she was unwilling to do anything, and that any issues in my relationship are my fault.  There is a great deal more to this, but the entire conversation has me thinking that my mother does not even perceive me in any way that is authentic, and has made it clear that anything I say or do to is a reflection of her deranged ideas about me.  I don't know how to deal with this at all, and am feeling rather terrible about writing this here.  The truth is that I love my mother and my brother very much, and I want to do what I can to make things better with them, and it is incredibly painful to feel that any effort I could make would be pointless, that they seem to actively

It May Be Best That You Are Gone I cannot know for certain but it seems the world will not be as it is, and I do not know what would be if you were here, as much as I miss you, I do not know if I wish  you were alive for this, for what it seems is coming.

 I spent some time this evening writing a short piece I have been meaning to get done for over a week now.  It is a piece that had certain restraints, in terms of the format, and I found it hard to get myself started, but once I got myself going, I found my own way through it.  In truth, I know that the issue was more one of procrastination than anything.  It is funny, but I still feel like I am a major procrastinator, even though I get a great deal of work done each day, and often as one of the first things that I do in the morning.  At the same time, I am aware of my history of not working, and am also aware that I often put work off in one way or another, even just saying to myself, in the afternoon or early evening, that I will wait a bit before getting to writing, or, as with this, working but not on a specific project.  I don't know that it is always a bad thing, for example, in this case, I feel that I might not have been able to find the right hook if I hadn't waited. 

I Am Only A Messenger There will be what you must do, and also what I, too, must do, and do not think because you hear from me always that you must do this and I must do that instead that I am choosing, no, I do not choose who gets to do what, it is that I know what must be done and who must do what, I do not choose, it is only coincidence I am always discovering that you are better at the difficult tasks and I am best at taking naps in the sun, but do not think it is that I choose, it is a compliment that you must do those things which require concentration or skill and effort and if I were the type to take advantage of you and not doing my share, do you think I would want to let you know you are so much better at everything than I am?

I spent a fair amount of time today working on my new chapbook collection, which is getting close to being in a full draft format.  I am certain that their are still changes to be made, but it is coming together, and I am quite excited to see hole the manuscript, as this book is one that is designed to be a cohesive experience, not just a set of poems.  The connections between the works is intended to create a through line, with a sense of discovery about the work as a whole, and with the later poems changing the meaning of earlier work in unexpected ways.  That is the intent, but to know it is working is difficult until it all comes together, and the result is very much going to rely, I think, on small details and how they guide the reader's understanding of what they are reading.  Certain things will be clear about the structure, at a certain point, but that is not at the start, and yet I also know I need to build connections before those aspects of the work are apparent, and nee

Approval Is Necessary We must tell them "yes" but make certain it is clear it means "no", but they cannot be allowed to express that we said no, must be forced to accept our yes as if it is a "yes", but that "yes" must be a "no", must stop them, but if we said "no", it would send the wrong signal.

I do not have a great many readers for my work at the moment, and often it takes time for me to get direct feedback, even of a general sort.  With poetry, this has become a sort of normal thing, and I believe it has liberated me to an extent, especially since I was writing so much and could not expect all of it to be seen immediately.  In writing fiction, however, I am often less certain.  In part, this is due to my having far less experience writing fiction or studying the craft formally.  I do not have the same amount of confidence about my prose in general, and with fiction, I am often completely uncertain about a story when I finish it.  This may even be, in part, a result of process, as I often allow myself to do things in stories that are more intuitive.  To offer an example, the story I am writing now is one that, as it began, I had a sense for a bit of what was happening, of where the plot was headed, but then, as I kept going, it felt that it might be a different story than I

Asking for Help It was always clear there was danger, clear to her that it was present in his presence, that it was necessary for him to be gone, and she knew, even then, she saw, it was so clear to her, and she  spoke of it, told everyone of her fear, but she was no one to be listened to, why would they want to listen to hear fears from her, why pretend she was even that valid, that relevant, no, she was not heard, she knows she was not heard, and the damage that was done is not only from what he did, that is only one part, not just what was done itself, but how it was allowed, and now they come to her, these people come to ask for her to be the one  who offers care, as if they deserve such consideration for all that they believe they have already done.

I have been watching the news, of course, and hearing the comments from Republicans who are backtracking on their actions around the nomination of Merrick Garland is both unexpected and disturbing, however, I feel a certain upset about the progress of events today that I think has not been mentioned, and I am, if I am honest, a bit hesitant about discussing this, as I expect it will be dismissed and that I will be called over-sensitive or otherwise irrational, as that has been my experience in similar situations in the past.   The fact is, I think their is an extreme level of disrespect for the Jewish community in the fact that Mitch McConnell could not wait until the end of this holiday to discuss his plans.  The death of Ruth Bader Ginsburg already had impacted this Rosh Hashanah greatly, especially since she was a strong representative for Jewish principles of justice.  It is well known that her chambers were decorated with works of art including the biblical phrase, "Tzedek, t

It Is Different to Me The parts of it that seem most relevant in my perspective do not seem important to anyone else, seem to mean nothing, though they are the things that will scar me, they are only seen by me, I think, and when I name them, you do not listen with any intent but to confirm again that I am strange and undeserving of consideration.

I was at dinner with my family tonight, just having finished our Zoom based Rosh Hashanah services, when we learned the news about Ruth Bader Ginsberg's passing.  Their are so many things that come to mind, and I wish it were easy to focus on how much she did and not on the possibility of losing all she fought for, but we have been at the point of crisis for so long and this has disturbed whatever tentative balance might have existed, and even before she has been buried, it is already clear what is to come, McConnell could not wait even until the morning to make his intent known.  It is clear, anyone who cares at all about RNG's legacy needs to stand up for it, to act in whatever ways are necessary to carry on, to make certain that all her labor is not undone or forgotten.  We must view the passing of this woman who stood as a righteous and passionate proponent of justice as a call to action, as a sign that we must rise to be the kinds of people she showed us the world needs, a

What Is Gone I had so much  that I was concerned about today, so many things that took their place in line, troubles conundrums, serious concerns and petty gripes, and the holidays, the holy days that have begun, had me wanting to be free of it, to release my fears, at least tonight to be without them, but the news, it came at dinner just minutes after we had said  Mourners Kaddish and ended the service.

 Work is going slow, still, but I am making progress.  The story I have been writing is coming along, though I am still writing it at a snails pace right now.  I am getting towards a place where I understand it, and I think that it is going to speed up soon.  It is best, I often find, to just trust the story to go and find a way forward.  I have a sense of what I think is going to happen, a general concept of a plot, but I am also thinking that the plot I am considering is one best handled without the character being fully able to comprehend the events, in a sense.  I want the reader to have an understanding of things that are not accessible for the character, and that are not stated directly in the story.  In achieving that balance, I think the approach of not considering the plot so much, of writing from within the characters experience and allowing things to shape around that, makes a lot of sense, and it also keeps me open to the possibilities of the ways a piece of writing can cha

Broken Metaphor Do not compare these events to the past, to those erstwhile atrocities  that come to mind when considering the situations of today, do not state why this is the same as what was done then, it is not anything that is worth pointing towards, placing the light upon it does no good, it is obvious already to anyone who wishes to notice, and any other will be certain this is different, or will not care that it is the same.

I mentioned that I have been working on a critical essay, of sorts, and that piece has gone well, but it became far more complex, involving personal elements and roving from the specifics of the topic, in a way that makes me want to expand it further.  At the same time, I am also feeling it is important to respond in a more limited and direct way to the work in question, and so I have been attempting to work on a shorter piece that I might be able to place in a more immediate time-frame.  The difficulty of this, for me, is that I don't usually attempt to write in this more constrained and direct manner, and, as such, am having a bit of difficulty entering the piece.  In many ways the methods that are most suitable for such a challenge feel, to me, cliche, but they are also the signposts that matter in such a piece, in some ways.  I do wonder, though, how much of this is my own hesitancy to get stuck doing certain kinds of work, though this piece, I recognize, is a needed exception

Always Staying In No, I do not want to do that again tonight, not that, or the other things we have done one night or another for every night, and it must be we can determine what can be done that is not the same, even if it must be done in the same place, after all, I know, and must remind myself to think more, I will get to do whatever it is, even if it must be the same as before, with you once more.

 I was invited to take part in an online conversation with several other poets this evening.  In general, I do not have a great many opportunities to take part in these kinds of dialogues.  The last time I was continually involved in a community of that sort was while I was in graduate school, and since then, I have been largely surrounded by non-writers, and certainly non-poets.  One of the major parts of taking a workshop at the Palm Beach Poetry Festival in the past few years has been the community aspects, and I've made numerous friends who I have kept in touch with over the years, even some who I have seen outside the festival week.  Even more than those friendships, however, is the ability to discuss and consider ideas with other writers.  I attempt, as much as I can, to use this blog as a way to discuss the various things on my mind, whether it is a specific idea related to the work I am engaged with, my frustrations about developing my publishing credentials, or whatever it

As It Has Always Been It is this way, and I will not think of any other way it might be, because it must be this way, has always been that way, has always been the way I have seen it, so it must be that way,  it would be wrong for it to be another way, it would mean I needed to care about things I do not think about, it cannot be that way, cannot be any way that makes me reconsider myself, no, because I know I am a good person, it is not possible for me to not be a good person,  not at all, that cannot be, so it must be that I am right, because if I am not right, I would have to rethink how I have behaved and whether I have caused harm, but I know I am a good person, it is not possible for me to not be a good person, so it must be this way, as I have always known, as I was taught by the good people who raised me, who taught me the values of what it is to be a good person and how good people think and act, and who it is good people think about when they consider who is worth caring for.

I have been playing around with writing poems that take after traditions in conceptual art, in which the poem is more of a figurative object, not an actual poem, but an idea of the poem for the reader to engage with.  To offer an example; Morning Poem My poem is the words you would use to describe the sky the last time you were awake at dawn. I am aware that many people would probably laugh at me for a thing of that sort, and would assume it is not a serious endeavor, but the point is, in part, to question what a poem is, to examine ideas about what it means to say a thing is a poem.  I claim that this is a poem, and that the words of it are not the words written here, but are the ones that come in response, and that I am the writer of that poem.  At the same time, this kind of work has to be irreverent, by the nature of what it means to challenge the status quo, and I recognize that work of this sort of work can seem silly, but I think that silliness is a result of the fact that it st

I Am Sure I Put This Away What is that shadow doing over here?  It should be with the others, in that corner, where it is dark and no one will notice just how many are collected here, not out on the floor where it can be seen like a stain against the brightness of my fresh mopped tile.

 I am doing well in terms of getting that chapbook organized.  I did quite a bit of work on it tonight and am getting close to having the draft ready.  I am certain, once I have it together, I will have other work to do, as I am yet to see the full piece assembled, which will change it, I am certain.  My goal in crafting this collection is, as I have said, to make a cohesive experience, to bind the poems together in a way that makes it feel as if they are of a whole.  In order to do this, I am creating a sort of ghost narrative by assembling the work from poems that all gesture towards similar events, and weaving the interconnections that make it clear their is a progression through the pieces.  In many ways, I am thinking of it more as akin to the way a piece of music can seem to convey a sense of narrative, even if it is not clear in terms of the details.  I suppose it is more accurate to call it a journey rather than a narrative, but I am not meaning a story or plot, more the sense

Fulfillment I am quite eager for the box to arrive,  to open it and discover the secrets it will contain, but I do not want to allow myself to anticipate what will be there, what I will find, do not want to expect it to be anything of real value, to trust  the promise of fulfillment, of receiving anything more than another disappointment, not because I do not wish to be hurt again, there is no way for that, nothing will keep that away, no, it is simply gone, I cannot allow it any longer because it is too much, but perhaps I will be renewed by what I find, perhaps,  it may be possible, I concede it can be, though my experience with that is limited.

I continued working on the chapbook collection I mentioned yesterday.  The poems are, individually, ready, but the collection as a whole still needs a bit of work to bring it into unity.  As I mentioned, the work is organized in a way that is intended to create a kind of mirroring between the two halves of the book, and so I am working to create connections between the pieces using the titles and small changes, primarily to the formatting of the poems.  In many ways, this piece reflects my writing process over the last several years, in that I was writing so much for so long, I often felt free to write many poems that meditated on similar subjects.  I did not worry about the focus of an individual poem, as I knew it was only a small piece of the work, and as a result, I have a great deal of work that meditates on similar ideas from different perspectives.  The poems in this collection are all products of that, so, while they were not written with this particular approach in mind, their

I Wonder If You Have Read It Yet I did not ask if it was done because I know you will be upset, will complain at being rushed, but you were the one who offered, who suggested I send it to you, and now, a week later, I do not know if you have looked, or if you forget it is there, but I know I cannot ask, will be told you did not look because you do not like to be rushed, though I say nothing, you will tell me you know I am waiting, and that is enough to make me the one responsible for the delay.

 I have been feeling rather productive today, though it has come out in work besides new poems, but that is not the worst thing.  I spent a good deal of time working on other projects, including preparing a chapbook manuscript that I've been constructing for some time now.  The book has an intricate structure that involves two sections, with the work in each section reflecting off of the work in the other, and I am using various aspects of the individual poems to denote connections between specific pieces, to make the mirroring between the two halves apparent for a reader in an intuitive way, as opposed to stating the schema and hoping that it connects.  The goal is to leave the reader with a cohesive experience, one that carries from the beginning to the end in the piece, and which demonstrates a care and intent in the entire work, as a whole.  Many of the best poetry collections I have read are books that do not have a cohesive quality, and which stand out because the works in th

That Morning I remember you called me, woke me up telling me to watch the news, said what had happened and I was tired, fell back to sleep, just long enough to wake uncertain it had been real, what you had said was so strange,  it had to have been from a dream, was just confusion, yes, that was it, but I cannot wake up, even all these years and I have not left that strange morning's nightmare.

 It has been a productive day, though I still haven't increased from two or so poems daily.  I did a bunch more work on that essay, and finished an initial draft.  I think their are some ideas I want to add in, but I think that I need to look at the structure of it and make certain it is moving in the ways I would like.  I feel good about it, but I need to see what responses I get from initial readers.  I also have a lot of work that was sent out today, though I have to thank Freesia for that, as she helped to get the work organized for submission.  In truth, I was feeling a bit energized, and I am trying to not be brought down by the rejection I received tonight.  I have to keep going, and I am hoping that I can keep my motivation up even with the negativity I am feeling about my current situation.

I Am Sick of These Lies There is what you have said and what the circumstances declare is your mean, and it is no good to offer empty statements of support that do not demonstrate any understand or depict any degree of care, which are deployed to disarm me, to keep me from responding with the genuine emotions your actions and attitude provoke, which are mostly my response not to your actions but to the way you wrap them in pretty lies, because you think it better to placate me than offer straight answers.

 I did not get any additional poems done today, but I am working on a long essay at the moment as well, and that has taken a good deal of my writing time.  It is a response to an episode of the program "Lovecraft Country" which is currently on HBO, and in specific to an aspect of the third episode that adds an anti-Semitic subtext that I found rather upsetting.  I am hoping to have at least a draft of it in the next day or so.  I still need to get myself writing more poems, but I am also glad to be stretching into new areas with my work, although, if I am honest, I am not as interested in non-fiction and essays as an art form for myself.  I do not really want to become known for that kind of work, if I cannot also get poetry and fiction published as well.

You Said It Was Special for me to do this, that it was not a thing you would allow him to do, that it was for me, and I should not have ever believed you, but it was what you said, and now I want to ask, but I know the answer will be to say I am wrong, that it was never that way, because it is not enough to hurt me with the lie, you must be able to do it in a way that allows you to call me unreasonable for being upset, can make clear any hurt I feel is just an effort to cause you harm.

 I want to begin pushing myself to write more poems again.  I've been writing only a few a day for a long while now, and I think it might be good for me to get back to a more involved schedule.  I don't want my current frustration to keep me from getting more written, and I have to hope that channeling some of that energy into the work  will be fruitful.  I know it will not really change things, and that it does not really alleviate any of the sense of failure I've had, or at least has failed to in the past, but it is still a gesture of optimism, and it is significant, if only as a signal to myself, that I remember I still have not quit, that some part of me is still taking the actions that are congruent with what I want.  It is hard to not fall into the same cycle of thought again and again, but I can at least look towards my work and see that I am still doing what I need to, even if it is not meriting me anything.  If only I could see that without feeling that their was a

The Days Have Been Slow but the weeks seem to disappear, and the months, I have no hold on them, do not know why it seems they jump when each day is so long, must have too many hours in it or this one would be over by now, I am certain this day has been too long already, going on and on, and yet somehow tomorrow it is supposed to be Wednesday.

 I have been in a very negative place, as anyone who reads this blog regularly would likely know, and I need to change things.  I have no idea what to do, but it is untenable for me to continue as I have been.  I do not have any answers, but I recognize my situation and that I need to alter it, and would be glad to have help in that regard. I don't know how to change any of it, and I am not open at all to any kind of acceptance, to be honest.  Accepting my situation makes me feel worse, as it makes me feel that I am in a hopeless situation that will not get better.  I am not defending that perspective, but I can't see any way to think of my current situation as anything but a failure, and to accept that would mean allowing myself to be defeated by this, and to basically give up on my writing, to accept that I have wasted all my time and effort and that I was misled into believing I had any talent in the first place.  I am not saying this is a valid or healthy perspective, but i

Please Get Out of My House It would be different if you were a cat or perhaps a small lizard, but this does not work, not at all.  It is not personal, but you are a duck and do not seem to have any understanding of manners, of how company should behave, have already made such a mess, white stains on the tiles, the walls, the smell of it all, and the noise of you, and it does not seem you are happy: we have nothing for you, not even a filled tub, but each time I open the door you only honk again and gnash at me with your beak, and I do not want another encounter like that, so I am asking, though it seems silly, because perhaps you will understand, will realize that I do not mean harm, that I am only seeking to show you the path back to the freedom of open sky.

 I received another rejection tonight, and it is one that I find is in particular upsetting, as it is the first piece of fiction that I have sent out, and is for a particular story that I am very proud of, and which I have been told is exceptional and innovative.  It feels very symbolic that the first rejection I receive for fiction is for that story, and I can't help but feel it is a sign that things will not change.  I do not have anything else to say about it, really, and all I could say is the same stuff I have said before.  I feel lost and in need of help, and I feel that asking for help only provides me more evidence that I am in this alone.  I need to know what I can do, and I feel certain that I will not be able to find that answer.  It is an untenable situation that I am incapable of altering.

I Cannot Think of That Word the one that I know I mean and which I need if I am to say what it is I am prepared to express, though I am unprepared, do not have with me that one word, and I know I could look it up, but that does not feel right when I can feel it there in my mind waiting, lurking around a corner just out of reach, and I know how much better I am going to feel when I pry it loose, like worrying a bit of corn stuck in the gums just besides a molar, and how much better it will be to remember, to rely on my own mind and not look it up, if only I can make that happen, can pull it out again, or I will just wait for it and not speak of anything except the word I do not know.

I am stuck thinking about the same things again, and not wanting to write more about them.  It is not as if I can fix things by communicating my feelings better, though I suppose that is a strange thing for a writer to say, and I recognize that their is the possibility that understanding can come from attempting to convey an idea, that a large part of writing about such things is attempting to alter my own perspective and move forward.  In this case, though, I am aware of the reality that changing perspective is not helpful.  As I think I have expressed, I am not interested in feeling better about this situation.  To think about my current experience in a way that denies the sense of being a failure, and which does not recognize that in the context of the investments I have made in my life, does not help me.  I would never have chosen to be a poet if it were not for numerous people who led me to believe I had a talent, and who offered both explicit and implicit promises of help, as wel

Family Dinner It was not so nice at dinner tonight, was fraught, conversation came with difficulty, even arriving, it was clear, the lack of a greeting, until Mother yelled at me that she knew I was there. I do not know what happened, why the invitation was extended if it the even was unwanted, and that is less  than the question of why it should be this way within my family's home.

 I am going to keep this short again.  I just am not certain what their is to say tonight.  It's not a major revelation that I did my writing, or that I am feeling dejected after receiving another rejection, and it is not helpful for me to repeat my consideration of those issues in the same ways.  It is how things are, and I do not have any idea what I can do at all.  I feel stupid even considering my problems, when I look at the larger issues of the world, and I already felt guilty about being in a bad mood and the impact of that on others, especially Melissa, especially right now when we are still, essentially, in quarantine together.  I need to figure out some way to improve things, which is the same thing I have said for months, and repeating the problem is not a way to solve it.  I an sick of feeling that all I can do is say I don't know what to do when I know I must do something.

It Can Be Better I believe it is possible for the world to improve, to make it better, that a way can exist for organizing things that minimizes suffering while promoting joy, fulfillment, all those things that are called schmaltzy, a better world, better enough that we can be bored with things being this way, instead of feeling sick about them being  the other way, I think it can happen, in principle it is possible, though I do not know how, have no practical expertise, but the point we have reached, just recognizing the possibility seems to be radical enough.

 I have been preoccupied the past few days, thinking about an episode of a television program that I watched the other night which I feel had some overtly antisemitic content.  I do not want to get into the specifics at the moment, as I want to take some time to write my thoughts in a more well-considered way, but I have been thinking quite a bit about the larger issue of antisemitism in general, and in literature in specific.  It is strange when I think just how fast the antisemitic aspects of classic works were dismissed when I was in school.  Even now, I wonder at how I dismissed the underlying reference to tropes of Jewish bankers in J. K. Rowling's choice to have a single race control banking, describing goblins with Jewish stereotypes like long noses.  In the context of contemporary events, where nazi slogans are being used in support of the president, and when I see celebrities gain fast forgiveness after publicly speaking of Jews as the root of the world's ills, the rec

How Long Has It Been so strange as this?  It cannot be only a few months, even though it is clear the changes have been drastic this year, it seems more this year has revealed what was wrong, what already felt not at all right yet still remained unseen.

 I am going to keep it short tonight, as I am not feeling well, and I need to get to bed.  I am in a great deal of pain from a gout attack, but I did get my work done, and I feel quite good about what a wrote today.  I do hope tomorrow will be better, but I am still writing and that's the one thing I know I can do, and I recognize it as important for me in ways that likely go beyond my conscious considerations.

  Invasive Cane Toads The advice from the state says to kill them by humane means, to place them in a container and leave that overnight in the freezer, allow the creature to pass into unending sleep without pain, but I imagine there must be fear, it must sense danger: captured by the giants who stalk its world, caged and the cage itself engaged again in a great dark chamber devoid of heat.  It is, the stat advises the way to handle them, the way to protect our local, indigenous wildlife from the scourge of this incursion, and it may be so, it might be better if I did it instead of just watching the tiny, green thing dart across the grey floor of my garage and wondering  when it came in, if it will get out into the neighborhood once more.

I am not really certain what to write on here, if I am honest.  I got my work done early today, and have been successful in getting back on schedule.  I've a clearer sense of the story I am writing, and it seems to be shaping up in a way that feels promising to me.  At the same time, I cannot deny that I am still feeling quite low and lacking the same drive.  I've been writing only two poems for a long while now, and I know I should begin doing more again, but I don't feel the drive to do much more at the moment.  The continuous rejection has me quite on edge, and it is impacting me in ways that I know are not good, but I am not certain how to do anything about it.  I am glad that I still am doing the work, and I take it as a good sign in general, but I've not felt this dejected and lacking in motivation about writing for a long time, and I just do not know what to do.  I cannot help but feel that I have wasted my life by pursuing writing as a profession, and the only h

Some Day We will be standing around, perhaps outside  on a sunlight day or else, sitting inside, watching rain through the window, and we will talk about these days, will think back on what is happening now, and I am certain we will know more of what to say about it all, if we survive this I am sure we will, though I can only guess what we might say, what there will be that must be said.