surreal peaches
so i am wondering...
if there are some weekends that are predestined to be completely unproductive.
if i can live indefinitely in little postcards and walk the quiet streets of my mind forever
if it is possible to score higher then 71 on a game of bumper bowling (pathetically true.)
if i can consider my imaginary pet turtle my date for my poetry reading (its that or my gloves)
if i will ever get to see NY like a non-NYer, such as getting tickets for a taping of SNL
if there is one reason to support public institutions, as in a radio station (besides ART BELL) worth listening to
if i can ever find it in my heart to like another cheese besides the greek goddess Feta
if i can hang up my limp peacock feathers in exchange for a never ending book...
my mind is running...and i am letting it go as far as it can...
IT is DISTRACTION. noisy head pollution from the million and one things i was supposed to do this weekend, of which, 24 hours later, i have yet to complete one.
I am the P. girl. and i tell myself (meditatively, therapeutically, proactively) today I am embracing my P. Girl factor....
Truth is friends (or myself) i am exhausted. utter exhausto. this anti-social drama queen wants to retire for the evening.... she wants to take off her boots, put away her big hats and bigger bags and just keep walking.... i'm seriously leaning toward Peru at this moment... a roadtrip to ___??
seems like its last kicks for getting engaged before Father Winter sets up shoppe (3 lechayims IS pushing it)...
seems like the Jewish Museum is forever scarred with smells of frying beef (not the place if you are a vegan)
seems to be some kind of epidemic in the air... making you actually want to get out and breathe it
seems that this new version of airborne inspiration is compelling people to take long quiet lonely Sunday walks to the library for absolutely no reason.
gives a whole new definition to flaneur, no?
;)
yeah. i think so too.
So in this stream of sudden consciousness... I am in my poetry groupee mode. Straight up. That's me. Poetry groupee girl. I like books, i like paper, i like ink-stained fingers, and i like being a pretentious coffee sipper writing in a book of bound paper. I like going to foreign cities imagining where Kafka or Joyce may have sat and wrote...I do...I love the world inside my head...the world of Subjective Reality (mostly because its the only one that exists- but that's for another ramble) IT keeps me sane (or insane- which is way more sane). i'm thinking and feeling Charles Bukowski right now (the man forever inscribed on my idle guitar case)... great book of his i found called Slouching Toward Nirvana (see I can relate to that...as my former Vinyassa instructor Vivkan can attest to) anyway tis good stuff. and because i cannot help myself, and because my TWO research papers due tomorrow (that's right not one but TWO) one on Madame Bovary the other on philo. I have not yet even begun in a physical way (its all in my head- wish i could head in MY memory and not computer's), it's 1 am i must be up in 7 hours i have so much to do... and ergo: i am going to share a poem.
writing the good stuff in those early
days of madness and having it all
creep back to me in the mail.
and now being far frmo those early days
and now sometimes writing stuff that is
not so good
and getting accepted
anyhow
which is the way it is when you
get half-a-reputation
and it was that way then
when i saw the writer with reputations
getting crap published
that was nowhere near as good
as my rejected stuff.
but that's just the way the world
is and was
and i see actors still acting
who can no longer act
and comedians still up there
dead on stage.
why do the audiences and the
power-that-be persist
in tolerating
this shit?
i am astonished always at the
stupidity of Humanity but
i shouldn't be, it's always
with us.
which, after all,
keeps giving me more
and more
to write
about.
if there are some weekends that are predestined to be completely unproductive.
if i can live indefinitely in little postcards and walk the quiet streets of my mind forever
if it is possible to score higher then 71 on a game of bumper bowling (pathetically true.)
if i can consider my imaginary pet turtle my date for my poetry reading (its that or my gloves)
if i will ever get to see NY like a non-NYer, such as getting tickets for a taping of SNL
if there is one reason to support public institutions, as in a radio station (besides ART BELL) worth listening to
if i can ever find it in my heart to like another cheese besides the greek goddess Feta
if i can hang up my limp peacock feathers in exchange for a never ending book...
my mind is running...and i am letting it go as far as it can...
IT is DISTRACTION. noisy head pollution from the million and one things i was supposed to do this weekend, of which, 24 hours later, i have yet to complete one.
I am the P. girl. and i tell myself (meditatively, therapeutically, proactively) today I am embracing my P. Girl factor....
Truth is friends (or myself) i am exhausted. utter exhausto. this anti-social drama queen wants to retire for the evening.... she wants to take off her boots, put away her big hats and bigger bags and just keep walking.... i'm seriously leaning toward Peru at this moment... a roadtrip to ___??
seems like its last kicks for getting engaged before Father Winter sets up shoppe (3 lechayims IS pushing it)...
seems like the Jewish Museum is forever scarred with smells of frying beef (not the place if you are a vegan)
seems to be some kind of epidemic in the air... making you actually want to get out and breathe it
seems that this new version of airborne inspiration is compelling people to take long quiet lonely Sunday walks to the library for absolutely no reason.
gives a whole new definition to flaneur, no?
;)
yeah. i think so too.
So in this stream of sudden consciousness... I am in my poetry groupee mode. Straight up. That's me. Poetry groupee girl. I like books, i like paper, i like ink-stained fingers, and i like being a pretentious coffee sipper writing in a book of bound paper. I like going to foreign cities imagining where Kafka or Joyce may have sat and wrote...I do...I love the world inside my head...the world of Subjective Reality (mostly because its the only one that exists- but that's for another ramble) IT keeps me sane (or insane- which is way more sane). i'm thinking and feeling Charles Bukowski right now (the man forever inscribed on my idle guitar case)... great book of his i found called Slouching Toward Nirvana (see I can relate to that...as my former Vinyassa instructor Vivkan can attest to) anyway tis good stuff. and because i cannot help myself, and because my TWO research papers due tomorrow (that's right not one but TWO) one on Madame Bovary the other on philo. I have not yet even begun in a physical way (its all in my head- wish i could head in MY memory and not computer's), it's 1 am i must be up in 7 hours i have so much to do... and ergo: i am going to share a poem.
writing the good stuff in those early
days of madness and having it all
creep back to me in the mail.
and now being far frmo those early days
and now sometimes writing stuff that is
not so good
and getting accepted
anyhow
which is the way it is when you
get half-a-reputation
and it was that way then
when i saw the writer with reputations
getting crap published
that was nowhere near as good
as my rejected stuff.
but that's just the way the world
is and was
and i see actors still acting
who can no longer act
and comedians still up there
dead on stage.
why do the audiences and the
power-that-be persist
in tolerating
this shit?
i am astonished always at the
stupidity of Humanity but
i shouldn't be, it's always
with us.
which, after all,
keeps giving me more
and more
to write
about.
posted by HindiK at 1:28 AM
6 Comments:
This is possibly some of the best poetry you've posted yet.
agreed, i think this is the best post you have ever posted. great flow, great everything. wow, good job.
hey hindee,
great post. easy reading too. one can tell that it came from a real earnest place. sans the pretentiousness that often plagues the world of web logs. good work.
c.d.
Hindy- you're blog is great, problem is it's become virtually unreadable. I'm just a casual reader so you probably don't want my advice, but you're losing the crowds with tiny yellow font against a black background. I wanted to finish your article but couldn't- head started pounding! I think blue works, maybe that mauve you once had, didja think about white text?
Happy blogging.
suggesstion duly noted.
casual reader or not (how exactly is one just a 'casual' reader??).
thanks (wo)mon regardless of reading status if you're havin a problem bound to be three other people with the same ish.
I like. I like alot.
Anonymous, if you black the text that you want to read, it switches to blue on white.
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