A beautiful poem can flower from a number of sources! Even a mild complaint on an instant messaging service! Or a stubborn friend who doesn’t listen! Or BOTH!
Scott: Ugh, so tired
Me: There is no cure for that
Scott: ONE cure
Me: Nope–it’s a vicious cycle
Me: The sleep plants the seeds
Me: For future sleepiness
Me: Like how food makes you hungry
Me: The incubation period is many hours
Me: I see why you are confused
Me: It wears off after a few more hours, but by then you already succame to it!
Me: Planting seeds anew
Me: Poor Scott
Me: Chained to his addictions
Me: Chained to his afflictions
Me: Chained to his ill-placed convictions
Me: Evictions from freedom from sleeping and feeding
Me: Always yawning
Me: Always needing
Me: Never heeding
Me: Anna, his true friend
Me: The end
THEN the fool signed off and went to bed!
I found this charming poem scrawled in my notebook over the weekend, and took some time yesterday to spruce it up with ART.
There once was a tree in the park;
A tree that was covered in bark.
The leaves they were green–
As green as you’ve seen.
And in a high wind it would lean!
This is my swansong
(I never even tried swan!)
This is my goodbye.
Spent all day in bed with food poisoning–finally down to mild nausea, and I am able to draw without feeling dizzy. Score!
Just for fun, a self portrait!
This is me left to my own devices.
What’s YOUR contribution to the suffering (or alleviation thereof) in the world?
What token gestures have YOU made towards self-betterment? (Using fewer paper towels?? Gave a dollar to a busker?? Working out??) I am toying with vegetarianism, personally!
Ultimately, will it be enough?
Have you read any comments on youtube, the news, etc recently? …They can’t ALL be fake!
Mostly, though, I think I can safely determine I am not an autotroph when it comes to emotional energy. In rehearsals, for instance, or when I am with friends, I am ON TOP OF THE WORLD! Biking hard is another quick fix, but it’s always night-time or raining lately. It’s times like the past 3 months that I miss college/high school!
Finally, a little formless poem:
The Boy Downstairs
I hear him through the floor all day
Playing Stairway to Heaven
He’s actually quite good–
Playing one song exclusively will do that.
When his parents go to sleep
He lights up the dankest weed
The smoke floats in through my windows.
Boy downstairs! You’re like fifteen!
How can you even afford this habit???