Thursday, April 24, 2008
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Leaves of Grass, or Subterranean Homesick Blues
moon's phase is waning
as is my patience for the
earth's restoration* attainting no-thought:
sit and meditate on how
to attain nothing* the books have been read
pictures have been painted, yet
the cup is unfilled* letters unwritten—
what have I, man of leisure,
to write home about?* late in the evening
snowflakes fall and disappear
before touching ground
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Comments (5)
Suicide: the only reasonable solution
this set is really zen like.
I wish I had some inteligent opinion to give you but I have nothing.
Thier all seperate right? A haiku? I like the third one. I can relate to it. At the time you feel like you're doing so much and mayby you are but you really aren't at all and in the back of your mind you know it.
Well, there ARE people in the world who have been through more horrible things. I don't pretend to be ignorant of that fact. But at the same time I thank you for not discounting my self-obsessed, middle-upper-class-inflicted pain, because pain is pain, however it may be felt. I did get a good mind-fucking via the ballet world, but I really hope not to let it affect me too much as an adult, unless I can use it to better myself and pass a heightened awareness of "the workings of things" on to my hypothetical children.
You are so, so kind. Thank you for always being there to boost my confidence.
Hah. I never would have known you were drunk from your last comment. Ah, the shortcomings of online communication. So much gets lost and muffled in instant-messaging-type situations. Which is ironic, because I think I come off as much more clever when I can type my thoughts, as opposed to trying to speak them.
This is a wonderful set of haiku. Deeply personal, and yet I see a clear image of my current state reflected in your images. Such is the stuff of great writing.
-mw.