Would That I Might

A few years ago I took a workshop with Gregory Pardlo who presented a number of ideas connected to the question of language's role in cognition.  One particular question which I find myself fascinated with is about whether the experience of consciousness, the mind we inhabit as humans, is fundamentally linguistic.  That is to say, is the "I" dependent on language.  That may seem strange, but there is research to indicate this is the case.  For me, this has many other layers and implications, since I recognize that dyslexia is connected to the processing of language.  If language provides the underpinnings of self, what does a difference in the cognition of language itself mean about my experience of being a person? To me, this question is also one that connects with my attempt to create a computer that is proficient in poetry.  While the initial aspects of such a challenge are rather superficial, I am thinking in a longer sense.  The key issue in understanding language is

The Ground Is Familiar but ground is ground, is dirt and grass here or cracks of concrete, maybe gravel, that is possible, but it would not be special, unique.  There must be ground with other qualities it holds to itself.  Beaches? It is not here, though. If it is a different place, why can't I tell?  It seems the same, seems just more ground, and my feet do not look happier, I have been watching them, have been paying close attention to my feet this whole time.

 I am not certain what I did, but my arm is in terrible pain and I can barely lift it.  It had bothered me a bit a few days ago, but the last day or two, the pain has gotten far worse and my range of motion is terribly affected.  I need to talk to my doctor, I am certain.  I have an appointment coming up with her soon, but I will check when it is and try to get one sooner, depending.  I suspect it may be an old injury returning, as I had an issue with tendonitis at one point when I was twelve or thirteen.  At the time, I had just begun to attend a main-stream school, and in order to facilitate the transition from special education it had been determined that I would need a laptop computer.  This was in 1991, so laptops were very new and not a thing that most people had.  It was a huge deal and quite expensive.  My parents actually had trouble affording it, but got help from my grandparents to pay for it.  The thing was, though, laptops at that time weighed between five and ten pounds,

I Know What You Want That is clear, what you want, and it is a want for me to be a different person who wants to do the things you think are the things to be done, and you think you are right, that I am wrong, am wrong to be who I am.  You argue that it is my fault I am upset when you say what you know will upset me.  You knew it would you said before speaking it, you said that you knew it would upset me, but you still said it and meant it and acted as if it was kindness, was a thing you said to help me, even though you knew already, because it is not good enough for me to be a person, to be me, no, I need to be the one you of when you imagine the person you want me to be,  but it isn't me, I do not want to be that person, though I love you, I do not want to be that person at all, and I could not be if I wanted to be, if your approval was enough for that, to make it seem true, to make me still see it the way you think is right, but I am not that person. I grew into who I am. I do n

 I am, as mentioned yesterday, attempting to step back a bit and get a bit more acclimated in terms of working with programming in general, and this type of deep learning approach in specific.  I think that the initial code I was working on may need to be scrapped.  It may be that it is old and outdated, as it was assembled from material online.  I have found some more resources that seem quite a bit more reliable, but to understand them, I need to take a bit of time.  I don't think it will take too long to get myself to a basic level of familiarity, and I am hoping that will be enough to at least start dabbling more directly with the more language centered challenges that I am interested in exploring.  I can, of course, see other things I would like to explore, if I am able to get to a level of proficiency, many of which also connect back to writing and aspects of this project.  I knew I was getting into something without any real understanding, but I feel I can get there, it is j

In Medias Res I do not want  to begin at the beginning, or to go near that part again, I do not want to think of that again. It happened, but lets move away to other parts, if we are to tell, if their are stories, the beginning is the part I am glad to say I have run furthest from. It is not a place I shall return, not even to tell, no.  I am not ready, not for that.

 I am still struggling with getting this project off the ground, but I am learning more and more each day.  I have a good sense of what to do, but their are many little things that I don't understand enough about yet.  It seems significant for me to do this without having to go far beyond just looking around the internet, as a part of the intellectual conceit of this endeavor.  That is to say, a major part of why this is a thing I think I should do is that I feel it is very near to happening, whoever takes the step.  If it were a project I felt would be impossible without years of study, I don't believe it would be worthwhile in the same way.  That is not to say I won't spend more time on this, overall, but that if I can't get a basic example of my intended concept functioning in some rudimentary sense without such an education, the point is somewhat lost. I may need to step back a tiny bit from some of the specifics of my goal, maybe doing a few less complicated things

It Could Be Important, maybe.  That is possible: importance is a possibility, but I am uncertain. The effort itself matters, I think.  I mean to say it is a thing I think should be done, must be done, will be done, perhaps, it might be one day, though I am often wrong and could be again, it still seems worth doing, but that is not to say it is my desire, is anything I want. If I do it, do not be confused that it is not for reasons besides my own, besides fulfilling any desire for myself. Or maybe, I am wrong there too. It is so hard to know.

I am still not quite set up with the ability to run the code I am working on, but I have discovered a number of new resources that seem quite relevant and which I am excited to explore.  My brother is actually setting up a new machine for me right now (I decided to get a Raspberry Pi that I could use for this project).  I am very appreciative of his help with this, as I was struggling to get anywhere with it.   Beyond my typical writing, I also spent a bunch of time working on a piece connected to this project, which is largely an exploration of my thinking on this entire endeavor, in terms the reasons I find it a worthwhile project, and the intention I have behind it, as an artist.  It is quite dense right now, and I am not certain how to structure it, really, but that is why I am drafting it.  Once I know what it is I intend the piece to say, I can go back and get it organized.   Along with the writing work, I spent a long while researching various tools that are available, and found

I Cannot Remember The Beginning Any Longer Who is the one that started it all, me or you?  Was it a word or a look, or just a stench in the air, easy to blame one another for that. Whatever it was, it started all the trouble, and now, it is a mess, and you and I should know better. I should know better, but that seems now to mean not trusting you.

Getting myself setup to be able to run the code I have worked out is taking time.  It has been a lot of little things, but I am getting through it, and have gotten quite a bit of help from my brother in terms of installing the libraries and such.  It is a complicated matter to get all that installed, but I feel that, once I have things up and running, I will be able to achieve some kind of interesting result.  I have been doing a lot of research, and I am already finding a great deal more support for the effort, in terms of open source projects that deal with language, though nothing quite in the specific direction I am aiming.  I think that their are many who are interested in this from the technological side, but I do not see a lot of artistic interest in this, at least not in terms of writing.   Whether I am exploring this in a way others have not, or am on ground already well trodden, I cannot help but think that a writer will bring a different set of inferences and approaches, new

Disaffection I noticed it, again, the way you turn away, always.  You turn away, turn so I am not there, where you must look, where you can ignore me. You have done it before, many times you do it, but if I say a thing, it is in my mind, is just this moment, not a pattern. You will never admit when there is a pattern, each time is unique, is insignificant. You will not believe me, no, it is not real at all. It requires better evidence, requires you to be caught. That is what I thought, because I did not think, did not see the pointlessness. Why should I need proof that you cause me pain? If you care, why would you need proof?

As mentioned last night, I am endeavoring to create a computer program, bot of sorts, that is modelled from my writing. I spent a good deal of time today on learning more about computer learning, and considering my goals with this project.  It is not something that is short term, of course, as I do not think that I can even conceive of an end state, but I can think of many steps along the way.  My initial intent is just to get something functioning to write poetry that replicates the qualities of my writing, even if not fully sensible.  It is possible, I know, to do such things, and I have seen programs to emulate various writers, though the results are not usually meaningful.  In most cases, the network has discerned a pattern of language, but does not have a real sense of what that language is intended to do.  It is only stringing together words based on what language it has seen, but with no reference point for the language outside that framework.  It does not know what any of the w

Toxic Impulses One of the things I am most angry about, she tells me this morning when speaking of my mother, is the way it feels as if they are taking you, as if each day you die a little because of how they have been, have treated you, and I only wish I did not show it, even if it must be this way, I wish I could be better at being hurt, and yet I know  that is not the way I should be, that it is better I am open, am able to hurt without hiding it away. But I do not want her to be in that pain, and I do not want her to see what my family have done, to resent them for it. I still protect them, even when I am betrayed, I still protect them.

The idea of creating a poetry-bot that is based on my writing is not something that I really have no business attempting.  I mean, I am not a coder.  I took a bit of C back in high school and did so terribly that I did not continue.  In college, I took a course on AI, but it was mostly a lecture with very little hands on programming involved.  We did a small project in a language called Amzi, and I recall being rather fascinated, but I didn't have any idea how to proceed.  As an adult, I have looked at online tutorials and learned a bit, but I have never created any real programs or software before.   At the same time, this project is one that feels very on brand, in some ways.  I've always had a fascination with AI, with computers in general, and in most specific, with teaching a machine language.  As well, I have been interested in the human side of that equation, and in language itself, of course, as it relates to human neurology and otherwise.  I played around with the Eliz

There Were Bugs in The Cheese crawling about, through it, not just a fly sitting atop, no, nor a single ant crawling about, so many of them, in the cheese, so it is there cheese now, is not anything we want back, though I am not certain how much it really matters, I certainly doubt the cheese cares.

 I began work on a coding project to train a natural language model based only on my poetry.  I have a large corpus of work, so I am curious to see what results.  I am not a programmer, though I have dabbled here and there, so I am really cobbling this thing together with help from various online tutorials.  My brother helped me get python installed, but he is a hardware guy and not a software engineer.  I am making progress, though, and am learning more and more what I am doing.   I hope that I might be able to create a kind of virtual poet, though the idea is rather silly, and I do not know how successful such an effort will be.  Still, it is an exciting project, and I feel there is a sort of artistic question to explore in attempting to recreate a version of myself, in a sense, digitally.

A Different Thought The idea made little sense, not as an idea but as an idea I was having, was nothing I knew about, not enough to have such ideas, not me, no.  It was not for me, no, it would be a mistake, an impossibility, but I thought it, I know, I was there when it shuffled into view inside my mind, so I am going to see what it is I have found, though it may be a mistaken, I cannot convince myself it is not what I must do.

I spent a good deal of time reading today, most in order to prepare for various projects I am considering.  In particular, I was looking at some things to do with disability issues, and, separately, some things to do with programming and natural language processing.  I have been fascinated with the idea of computers and language since I was a kid learning Basic on a Dos machine, but am not educated in the field of coding at any great level, even so, I felt I learned a good deal and was able to get a real start on things.  

There Will Be Another who is also here, who is meant to be the same, meant to be a duplicate, another who is the same, but not as real. Do not worry, they will not be quite as real.

In spite of my continued frustration, I am getting more writing done.  I worked on a draft of a short essay tonight which is about the difficulties that non-conventional punctuation and such can cause for me as a person who is dyslexic.  I tried to approach it in a way that is aware, because I recognize how important these tools are, and am not trying to delete them or anything of the sort.  Rather, I think it is important to point out the problem and to ask that these decisions be made with an awareness of who may be excluded by such methods.   I think I need to be doing more essays in general right now.  I have quite a few ideas for things to write about in that arena, and I am feeling more prepared to write this kind of thing than I had felt in a long while.  I'll see if I can continue the trend tomorrow, as I do have plenty more ideas.

I Want to Ask A Question but I am afraid that you will be mad to even be approached with any questions at all, though I should not be. I am certain it would be fine, but I cannot convince the rest of me  that must take the action.

I wrote a bit yesterday about the idea of creating some type of device to help me in signing books, and mentioned that I had concerns relating to the issue.  I know this is an area that is thorny, and I do have some sense about it.  Earlier today, for example, my brother showed me a video about a piece of technology that is, on the surface, rather intriguing.  The concept was a robotic sixth finger that is controlled through some form of biofeedback, creating an experience of integration with the device.  Now, this is very interesting, of course, and the technology itself is amazing, but I also saw it as a rather upsetting project.   I am certain that many would not understand my response, but I can explain it quite simply.  As a person who has a disability, and who has known numerous people with disabilities, including a number who use prosthetic devices, their is something insulting, even cruel, about the notion that this kind of technology should be put to use enhancing people who d

Another Dirty Dish, Another Existential Crisis The pan needs to be cleaned before it can be used, but using it is only a way to make it dirty and that seems an awful waste, just cleaning a thing in order to do what will make it dirty once more, it seems quite a silly way to be, a waste of energy, if you think about it. It is not right, not at all, is forever to be designate as never right, always wrong, though it is the same as all the rest of this, small efforts to make order, to seperate, organize, that is all their is to do,  though entropy will always win.

I am feeling a bit better about things right now, as I do have some thoughts on new strategies that may improve things for me.  In part, it involves tackling numerous things I find daunting, but I am hoping to enlist help for a lot of it.  One aspect is to think of ways to get more exposure online.  I am working on some interesting projects that are a bit tangential to my writing, but one in particular feels that it might be worth documenting, possibly even with some sort of video or videos.  It is a project I've been considering for some time and that connects to a specific fear I have about giving readings and doing events as a writer: signing books.   It is clear, of course, that it is important for any writer to be prepared to do signings, even for them to sign books beyond those done for a specific reader.  As a person who loves books, I have a love of signed editions, and I appreciate authors taking the time to offer such a gesture.  I think, in particular, of Neil Gaiman'

I Thought of What Might Work but others thought it first and said it could not, others who know better who have determined I am wrong before I thought I could be right, but I am unconvinced, though no one listens because I do not know enough, do not listen to the others, dwell in my own land where they can say it is wrong and I do not hear, though it does no good, means nothing at all if I am alone with it. I did not think it through to have my own solution. It was to be shared, but maybe it is best to keep it alive even if I must be alone.

 It has been a bit of a rough day.  I received a particularly painful rejection, which has me feeling rather down.  I reached out to about whom I consider a mentor and spoke with him for a bit, and I appreciate his support, though, in the end, his only commentary was that I am doing all the right things and just need to keep at it until something happens.  He was very clear in his belief in the work I am doing, but could only offer encouragement.  While it is good to have this kind of support, I have to believe that there is something I can do.  I have to believe that, because just continuing this way is too painful and destructive.  I know I have to find a way through this.  I have thoughts, but they are not clear yet, and I am not really confident about how to implement them, even if I clarify the general concept.  I can't continue on this way, though.

Out of Nowhere, There Is Rain Not a drenching downpour, just a mist, a splash, almost, but it must be rain: there is no other answer, though it was only a moment, was just that strange, sudden apparition. Maybe it did not rain, I think. My legs are dry, but it may have been so little I cannot be certain they always were.

I do not have the strength, tonight, to make a very long or meaningful entry here.  I have been crying and angry and have tried to keep from despair.  Everything that is happening is so upsetting: in Israel, in India, hell, even in Arizona (though that is a far different sort of event).  It has been draining me, and I know I need to write about these things, but I do not feel I can right now, for so many reasons.  Maybe I just need time to process, or to do a bit more reading, to learn more.  I do not know, but tonight, I am just overwhelmed with it all.  I do not know what else to say or write, only that I send my love and hope to all who read this, that I wish you safety on your journeys in this world of ours, the world that is right now.  I do not know what else there is for me to say tonight.

Laps I swam the pool in a single breath, today, slid  from one end to the other without rising, submerged. I could not hear anything from above, was alone there, gliding in almost flight. It took moments, only moments, and I felt each one, felt the need to return inside my lungs, but even so, I will return to whatever place I find beneath, will watch the light again, the twitching veins of brightness that warble across the wall in time with my wake. I came back to the air, breathed deep, forced my lungs full fast as I could, stayed there long enough to refill so I could return to that solo voyage from one side to the other.

As a Jew, watching the events unfolding in Israel right now, I cannot help but feel a deep sense of betrayal.  I was taught the importance of a Jewish homeland, how it was a necessity after so many nations had denied Jews refuge from the Holocaust, even sending back those who had already escaped.  I was taught to believe in Israel as a place that would always protect our people, would always be welcoming to any Jew who wanted or needed to go there.  Over the past week, I have seen images that chilled me, have made me wonder what good it is to have a homeland for my people, if it is a place where others are subjected to this kind of abuse and mistreatment simply because of their culture?  I saw the broken windows, and of course, I thought of Kristallnacht.  I have seen images and videos of children fleeing missiles, have watched as buildings were exploded into rubble, and I cannot imagine how any nation whose very existence came about in the aftermath of genocide and as a bulwark agains

Unmet Needs I do not want to ask again and be told only the same things, to be offered nothing more than words, kind words, yes, but nothing more than that, the expression of sympathy, the acknowledgement it should be different, with no advice on how to change  what has come to be. Your statement of care feels like an abnegation, stepping back from responsibility, dropping it on the floor between us. Is this only an assuagement of culpability hidden in kindness, an apology intended to take instead of to give:  words with nothing more?   How is it help?   It is only you who feels better.

I often find myself in situations where I have a problem that I can define well, and where I know what would be a resolution to that problem, even, at times, where I am aware of a path forward that should lead to the resolution, and yet, when I enact the plan which is supposed to improve things, it does not work. It happens enough that I have to believe it is something specific that is to do with me, but it is not at all clear to me what I can do to change this if anything. I would like to believe it is something I am influencing, that I can learn what I am doing wrong and change it. but these situations often feel, at least, as if they go wrong because of events I am not in control of and the actions of other people. I know I cannot change how others act, but I have to recognize myself as the commonality in these things, of course. I mean, it is silly to think that a pattern around me is not related to me, even if I am unaware of what I am doing to court these results. This all s

The Danger of Good Behavior For so long I did as told, took what was given, did not shake the tree to loosen fruit before its time, I waited, listened, followed. I trusted it was best, that I was not wise enough to do anything else, or maybe, not strong enough to do otherwise, to fight whatever currents would come were I to swim outside the offered stream, thought it led where I wished to be. I wish I had someone to ask for help, but only those who led me to this place will even answer.

I reached 140 rejections on submittable today and it is hitting me.  I've had many things that have had me down this week, but the truth is, the only thing I realistically believe could change, right now, that would really make me feel different would be getting work published.  What I mean is, many of the situations I am dealing with are not things that I can see changing soon, and I cannot get out of them.  For example, Melissa's mother is not well and we are in charge of managing her affairs right now, which has been stressful, especially since we have not been able to visit her nursing home since the pandemic started.  Things with my family are very fraught, and have caused a lot of pain.  While I want to make things better with them, I know it is not an easy or quick change.  The point is, I need some kind of boost, some evidence that things in my life can go right in a meaningful sense.  I am not sure how else to put it.  I am just at a point where I don't know what t

The Way It Has Been Is Not Alright If it is does not change, I will not be well. I am not well now, and it has not changed. I do not know how to heal this, not while it goes on, while it is still true. If it does not change, and I do not know that it will change or how to change it, if it does not change, if it does not, I will not be better. Maybe that is a choice, maybe I have no other.

As a Jew, I have always had a strange relationship to Israel.  My family was not one that had a strong feeling about the Jewish homeland.  My parents never had interest in going, and never really said a great deal about it as a significant symbol to them.  Still, I also knew, from going to synagogue and studying the history that led to the formation of the modern state, that it was important in many ways.  I do not mean the deeper cultural significance of that land in particular, but more the sense of it as a safe harbor for any Jew in peril around the world.   I knew, as well, about the difficult relationship Israel had with various nations in the Middle East, and, of course, about the Palestinians and the internal strife that was so often in the news.  I hoped for it to be resolved, but, when I was young, I did not see it clearly.  I had a sense of obligation to Israel, to the concept of a Jewish homeland. Over the years, though, I have seen more and more.  I recall hearing about Yit

I Should Learn I am willing to do what is needed when it is called for, when I am asked.  I will be there, will come to do what I can, to offer of myself, to help. I wish I did not care that you do less, I wish I was a better man, one who would not be hurt when you do only enough to say you have helped, to say you are no longer responsible. I am not that good, though I try to be, though I offer of myself to feel I am that good, but you show me better. Should I be thankful? It is not so easy to suffer the impact of your efforts smallness without the lesson I wish to learn being drowned out by disappointment.

I did a small freewriting exercises today, and I felt it was a good start.  It was not an ideal implementation, to be honest, as I wasn't using my computer at the time, but was on my phone.  Even so, I felt that it did help to get loosen me up a bit, and I plan to continue with this approach tomorrow.  This time, I wrote using the letter "a" at the start of every word.  It gave me the ability to focus on that part of the challenge, but I need to give myself the freedom to just fall into listing words, or even just typing the letter over and over if I get stuck.  The goal has to be to get beyond a certain level of conscious critique, so as to allow whatever is waiting to come flooding out.  It is about distracting my conscious self enough that what might normally come out will.  Even today, when my effort was limited, I found that the process forced me to allow a lot more to come through from the language, not in terms of the sounds themselves but in the sense of having th

How I Feel As A Dyslexic When Software I Use Is Updated Think of it as waking in the home you know, the home you think you know is what you think, though when you notice the next room is not the room it was before when you walked through it on your way to the bedroom, last night before you went to sleep. Think of searching out the bathroom, the front door, the kitchen, finding what was in one order is in a complete other, but you are still expected to do things as well as ever before.

I often find free-writing exercises difficult, at least the straightforward type where one just starts and goes without editing, where there is no real definition for what the work should be.  For me, it is often difficult to get into a flow.  When I start writing, most of the time I will spend a long while on just the first few words.  Once I am dialed in, the rest may go fast, but getting to that place is not always simple, and freewriting can be quite excruciating for me.  At the same time, I also realize that writing extemporaneously and at speed is a good way to step outside my usual intellectual modality.  The goal of freewriting is to just keep moving forward without editing, and without being concerned about what is already present.  That leaves little room for thinking about much more than the current sentence, the individual word being written.  I think that the issue, for me, is I need to be able to shift my focus, not only just write with the intent, but with a task that I

There Are So Many Locked Doors Here halls full of rooms we have not entered, bolted shut.  No one looks or tests the knobs, no one else does, no one but me even wonders what is inside. They walk past without a glance. They do not wonder who closed these doors or why it was done.  No, they just walk by.  I ask but they say nothing,  only tell me I will learn when I have been here for long enough.

I know my poetry needs to be more direct, to be more forthcoming, and I have worked on writing more grounded pieces.  I am never certain it is working, or if I am missing the mark, if I am honest.  I know I am making progress, that I am making conscious effort to include more that is concrete and detailed, both in adding texture and in permitting myself to say what I want, but I am still aware that part of me is holding back.  I am holding on to a lot of fear that keeps me from letting go, and until I can free myself from that more fully, I do not know what will change.  I do recognize that even admitting this is a victory, and that my recognition is an important step in and of itself.

Steps Must Be Taken I think of what to do, a way forward, an unsticking,  a possibility, but I do not know if it is a thing I can do, or is it an idea I cannot implement myself? Am I too afraid? Am I trapped because I am too afraid?

 I have spoken many times of the way things seem to go wrong for me all the time.  Today, I had an experience that exemplifies the kind of strange things that happen to me.  To begin with, it is worth knowing that the events I am going to discuss are largely a repetition of something that happened a few years ago, when Melissa and I sent a gift of fruit to her mother for Christmas.  The fruit, we knew, would not be available until the new year, but the company had promised to send a card in advance of the holiday announcing the gift.  Of course, the holiday arrived and their was no card, resulting in Melissa's family blaming me.  I was told that these kinds of mistakes are very rare, of course.  Of course, it is only rare to the company, it is rather common for me, for example, as I was writing this, I recalled another, similar incident, where a gift I ordered for Melissa this past holiday season was defective and could not be replaced in time for the holiday.  Maybe I should not h

Beneath Is Only Polyrhythm Within each single sound is a set of sounds, the harmony is only vibration, faster than rhythm, fast enough it becomes impossible to hear one beat and another, but they are there, deep down under it all.  It is all rhythm, is all the segmenting of time into one beat and another. It is because it cannot be heard, because it is too fast to hear as anything but a blur, that any tone is heard at all.

Melissa and I spent the afternoon driving in a "voter-cade" to protest in favor of voter rights as part of the John Lewis Day of Action.  It was a small event, but one that was connected to many others around the country, and it was wonderful to hear the support from people as we passed by, with many waving or honking in response to the line vehicles.  In the past week or two, several states have been pushing to pass laws through their legislatures to limit voting rights, including here in Florida.  The constitution was written to secure the rights of every citizen to vote and have power over those who run the government, but these laws are designed to protect the power of those who run the government from the citizenry by disenfranchising them from the vote.  It is clear to anyone who cares or is paying attention, and I know that driving my car around for an hour is not likely to create much change, but I know that protest has played an important role in this nation, and tha

I Have Never Met The Man Who Lives Upstairs from My Friend All of that rattling about at night, shaking and banging, the place is small: who'd expect such thuds at such hours with such regularity.  But at night the ceiling is all noise, elephant footsteps, though, with so many, so often I think of oversized tarantulas each furry foot sporting a metal tipped dance loafer.

I am attempting to think of new approaches to my submission strategy, but I am not really certain what to do.  I'm trying to send work to a broader range of journals, though I don't feel I was casting my net that tight.  I was joking earlier that I should find a programmer who can set up a program that will submit packets of poetry to every open journal accepting poems on submittable.com, that I am at a point where I need to just get work out there and hope that any acceptance will be a stepping stone, even if it is in a minor journal I might not have thought to submit to in other circumstances.  I'm not certain if this really is a new approach, or if I am just doing more of the same, and I am not certain how much difference this will make at the moment, but I have to hope.  Certainly, sending out more work is important, but I hate doing this over and over, hoping it will be different this time, but I also have to do it.  Perhaps the committed pursuit of art always requires

What Will It Take to Heal This? What must I do when what has been done cannot be changed, but it must be if anything is to come that is not worse, is not decline alone? I can see nothing else, though it could change, it might be it could, I might believe it could, but not while you remain set in holding  that you are the victim when this is the path you chose, when, after I asked and you agreed, you did this, you chose this. The results are what was expected, what I expected, what I warned against. But you did it, and now, I need you to make it right. I do not know how, I do not think it can be. It is up to you, if you care at all: you did this. It is you who must find the way to make it right.

I am having a lot of difficulty tonight with my coordination, as can happen to me at times.  It is not all that odd to think that stress or other factors might make it harder for me to compensate for my dyslexia, but it gets frustrating.  I've spilled things, knocked stuff over, and just generally been a klutz.  At least, I have not tripped or fallen this evening, or broken anything.  Even using the computer has been a challenge, though, which is one reason I was so slow to get to work.  It is always a challenge for me to deal with using a mouse and cursor, as I am not very good manipulating an object without watching my hand as I do it, especially not at times like this.  I spend a lot of time trying to get the cursor where it needs to be, for example attempting to press a button on the screen.  It may sound silly, but I often miss the place I am aiming and have to spend a long while attempting to get it right.  Often I will misalign my movements, twisting the mouse without realiz

You Say I Started Out A Happier Child You have said it, that before, I had a spark, a joy for life, until it happened; after,  it was gone, something was lost, how I had been happy, before I had been a happy boy, a happy child, and you saw it go, saw it taken, but you say, even now, it never came back, that it was gone, was taken, a piece of me that you say is missing, that was destroyed, that is no longer. You have said that, have told me, and you wonder why I think you believe I am broken.

 It has been a rather draining day, again, mostly for reasons not related to my writing.  I am feeling very much that I don't have a lot of support beyond Melissa right now, and she is having a great many difficulties of her own as well.  I am not good at keeping on a positive face or covering up when I am feeling bad, and I often feel that I am burdening her, as she does not have the power to change things, just as I cannot fix everything wrong that she is dealing with.  It is good to have her support, and I am glad to be able to provide her with mine, to feel I can be there for a person who matters as much as she does to me.  I know that she wishes she could do things to help me, as well, and I appreciate that desire, but I also see how frustrating it is for her dealing with me.  I am not certain what to do.  I can't just roll over and allow things to be this way, not only in my writing career, but in other areas as well, yet the changes that would help always seem to be out

Silent Consideration I want to say, but it may best if I do not. What if I say and they say they will not? What if they will not  even listen? It is bad, but could it not be worse by so much? If I say, it may not change, may continue, and they may say they still do not care. Maybe it is best I do not know  for certain.

I need a recharge of some sort, right now, in order to get me writing more, again.  I've been at two poems for a long time, and I have been considering the idea for this book, but not in as serious and directed a way as I had hoped.  It is difficult to keep working when I am continuously getting rejections, but I do, I only wish I were not doing the minimum.  I am trying to remain hopeful, but I want to see my work reach an audience.  That is important to me, and is, in a way, the completion of the work itself.  I don't think of the poem as the object, the words, but as the interaction that it creates.  It is a communication that is carried in words, but the words are just a vehicle.  I don't think of the writing itself as being the most important part of the work, and unread work feels incomplete.  In part, that is the goal of this blog, and I appreciate the reality that I have people who do read these entries, though I know it is not a great many.  It means a huge amount

Is This Still That Path? They said kind words and walked with me until we could see all that lay beyond, lands that I wished to explore, places that did not seem far off, green lands, lush lands, lands that beckoned.  The skies were bright, the clouds were clean, fully white> They spoke to me and pointed, told me the places beyond, assured me of my destination, offered guidance, set me off, and I have walked forward, but I only still see those places from a distance, and those who set me forth are far behind now. I cannot call to them, cannot see if they are watching. I hope I will arrive soon.

 I received a rejection that stung a bit more than most.  It is always, of course, disappointing, and I am often frustrated when I receive a rejection, though it is more to do with the overall trend at the moment than any specific example.  I do not believe that every editor, or even any particular editor, is obliged to want my work, and don't feel hurt in that way, most of the time.  Of course, their are always a few special submissions to places I have a particular feeling about, and those rejections can sting in their own way.  In this case, it was partly because the specific entry had been sent based on a suggestion from a mentor, and I felt that might be meaningful under the circumstances.  It was not that I felt they were going to influence anything, to be clear, more a sense that they might have been suggesting it because of a sense about my work lining up with the editor's wants.  I think another, and possibly more significant aspect is the fact that this was the last o

Give Me A Reason You decided it did not matter though we had agreed, but I do not know what changed that made that alright, besides your desire. I do not want a brother who betrays me so easily, but still, you are my brother. I do not forgive you, but I want to.

I want to find new ways for me to respond to the situations I find myself trapped in, but that is not an easy thing.  I can think of the limitations around me, the choices that I could make, but which seem to be detrimental, but not ones that are potentially positive.  For example, if I discuss this in terms of my attempt to get my poetry published, I know that the efforts I am making right now have failed so far.  This involves my sending out work to journals and publishers.  I have attempted, numerous times, to tweak the formula for what I send out, where I send my work, and various other aspects of my strategy.  I do not think, right now, that just sending out work to journals is going to create a different result for me.  It feels crazy to expect that to change on its own, right now, but, I am still doing it, because I am still inside a perspective that limits my choices so much.  I am not open to self-publishing, in general, for a large number of reasons, and I acknowledge that I

What Should I do? When I call  a few times in a week, I call too often, but if I stop, you are angry I have not called, and if we have dinner and I offer to help getting this or that from the shelves, you show annoyance, exclaim it will be easier if I stay away, but if I do not offer, you make clear that I am being selfish, lazy, useless, that you deserve better. When I invited you to poetry readings, you were put out that I was demanding your time, but when I learned the lesson, you learned of another reading I planned to attend, were offended at needing to ask for an invite.   There are patterns in our interactions that hurt me. I know, you will say I am wrong, there is no pattern each example is unique, is nothing like any other case, was a specific response to that one condition, that my experience of it being the same is just my bias. I cannot say if you truly do not see it, if it is just too deep inside, or is it intentional? I do not know.  I do not know if it would be better to

 I had a great deal of difficulty sleeping last night and so did not get to work this morning.  Even now I am really dragging to get through this.  I think it is best I get to bed early, hopefully to sleep, then, perhaps, I will be motivated enough to do a bit of writing in the morning.

There Was Another Lizard in The House today.  I saw it slipping about on the floor of the kitchen. I do not think it likes the tile, but it did not trust me to take it away from there. It hid well enough I could not find it. Maybe it found the way back out.