I woke up this morning and seriously didn’t feel like writing a poem. However, I’m one of those people that tries to get anything I don’t feel like doing out of the way first thing… before daily distractions start to intervene.
I’m finding that sonnet writing is like exercise. If I sit around being shitty about it, I’ll never do it. And a lot of the time regardless of how stoked you are about results… the process can still feel miserable. BUT! Nothing replaces how amazing your body feels after a decent workout… and I guess that’s kind of what I feel like after I finish another poem.
My mother is all over Julie & Julia. She watched the movie, she’s got the book, and she even now has the Julia Child cookbook it’s all based on. I had no idea about any of it until coming to the States, but apparently some desk-job hating Writer like myself started a blog where she prepared every recipe in the book over a year.
As a disgruntle Writer… I can’t help but point out the irony of a Writer getting rich off a cooking blog.
… maybe I should start posting recipes?
Eyes speak a language translated by hearts.
An indigo examination asks…
Ineffable depth, what silence imparts.
Your fear inspires a collection of masks;
no costume escaping one certain look.
Provoking desire, a purpose to dream.
A gaze to author your life in its book.
Chemical alertness beyond cocaine.
You jitter and swoon and speak. Natural
addiction to dialect. To explain
goes without saying like a tidal pull.
Sight reaches past peripheral vision.
Integral viewing leaves soul incisions.