Listening Back

The kids are screaming next door.

I’m sorry, they’re really laughing.

The sound is a bell toll.

They scream when they mean to laugh.

The joy just bursts out of their tiny lungs.

While I laugh when I mean to scream.

Containment being a product of my age.

Are they playing chase or racing down the driveway?

With bare feet or shoes?

I only wonder because…

Little running feet and grow into big running feet.

They take off across the world.

Discarded child shoes half buried in the sand pit.

I see them all the time but I’ve never seen the wearer.

There’s a point when the screaming stops.

Or, more so, shifts.

The kids were screaming next door.

Now I’m not sure.

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Hello world, this is me.

I’m almost 21 years old.

Today I was working in a deli and now smell of ham.

My ultimate goal is to one day publish a novel.

This blog is to encourage myself to generate more writing, particularly poetry.

I would also like the contribution of others. Please tell me what you think. Critical feedback is definitely welcome.

Seriously, this ham smell is intense.

Meditation

I tried to meditate, focusing on my breathing,
But my breathing started feeling forced and it became harder to breath.
Than I pictured a lotus flower opening and closing but it started to look like a carnivorous plant, like a cancer.
Then I felt the ground begin to roll beneath me like a ball. Sometimes I would go around with it, otherwise I would just feel it slide on my skin.

The ball took me to a town, showing me a war memorial and then it became my primary school. Teachers were playing tennis in the classrooms. My year one teacher gave me a bear that dissolved into my back.

I was unwillingly stretched to highschool. I was on a conveyor belt that slapped me in the face with briefcases. A cut bled too much like Alice’s tears that filled the whole room. I was drowning in my own blood. The floating was alright.

Then the slide clicked to University, and parties. My smile grew. A moving sun engulfed me and we became a small rotating solar system that burned brightly when closer.

Fictional World

One of my Creative Writing tutors told me that the percentage of writers/artists being depressed is incredible high. I’m beginning to understand why intellectuals and artists are this way.

Since I was young, I always wondered why I was at my happiest getting stuck into a Harry Potter book. But in my youth I was still excited for the future, when I would grow up myself and go on adventures of my own, just like Frodo and Bilbo did. Yet, now I have grown more I lack this enthusiasm for the future. The real world doesn’t have a concise ending. The hero doesn’t win and live happily ever after.

The world isn’t full of evil like described in books. Not pure evil derived from a ‘hell’ or dark magic. People become evil through the way they grow; their environment and influences. There is no such thing as pure evil. People, no matter who they are, are shades of good and bad.

In a way, it is worse than the fictional worlds. You don’t know who the villains are. People aren’t all fighting for freedom or love, money has a stronghold over humanity and it is harming the rest of the world.

The world is random, made of bits of coincidences that have formed into a mutated state of being. It doesn’t follow a narrative structure where everything ends in closure. You can live your whole life and never find that closure.

This is why artists can be the saddest people in the world, because they are constantly trying to escape it. I want to live in the Shire, go to the Green Dragon for a pint and see Gandalf’s fireworks. I don’t want to work for a pile of money that secures me a comfortable position in a nursing home. Reality is too full of disappointments and uncertainties.

http://www.bbc.com/culture/story/20141120-the-hobbits-and-the-hippies

This was a great article about Tolkien’s books and what they were to a sub-culture of people in the 60’s and 70’s. I think the books continue to offer this to people. The Shire is a utopia we can never achieve, but can’t help but dream of.

I’m going to New Zealand soon, and hopefully will visit the place where the Peter Jackson filmed The Shire. It will be beautiful and will fuel my imagination, but it will still be me reaching for a different reality.

The best we can do is find happiness.