Update: Messy Days

Quarantine harbors this sort of aimless feeling, you know? I'm stuck between stasis and anti-stasis as Millicent Weems would put it, haha. The novel is coming along somewhat. I have about 80-90 pages out of my projected goal of a little over 200. I don't know if it's turning out to be quite what I wanted (which is not always a bad thing). Extensive rewrites were already foreseen, but I may need to step away from actually writing for the project and shift into just thinking about what I want it to be and what I'm comfortable with it becoming. I'm worried it's all becoming too complicated, which in itself is my complicated mental state making things more, well...complicated?

I've still been taking the time to work on poetry and short stories. Nothing all that serious, just stuff to sort of briefly snap a photo of this moment in life. Truth be told, creative motivation is incredibly hard to tap into right now, and I feel like something is wrong with me. But wait a second, what if I'm not crazy? What if I just don't have that many experiences to draw from? After all, I've pretty much only been exposed to NOTHING this entire time. The only thing I'd end up making after this is a terrible and less progressive version of Jeanne Dielman, which is basically a movie about a lady cleaning a house for 4 hours. I need a well established artist somewhere to validate these feelings of emptiness. Asking for a friend.

My final semester of college is approaching rapidly and as the days go by I've been finding myself just wanting to enjoy more and more of my down time. This is already frustrating, though, because I feel like all I've done these past few months is just dick around. There are no meaningful jobs to apply for, and everything I write that feels important to me just comes out feeling unspecial. A return to normalcy may be what I need, but why do I feel like all the time I'm spending is worthless? Half of the days I wake up feeling fine and content, and the other half, I wake up feeling like a waste if I'm not busy concocting The Circuitry Might 2 or something. That's not a real thing by the way. All I'm trying to say is that the second step in my writing journey might be harder than the first. How do I build off what I've done and grow as an artist? I could go on and on about the harrowing differences between this summer and last, but right now I feel like more life living needs to happen before I can create something truly honest and genuine like TCM. There is more work to be done, my friends.

Poetry Pack 3

Some new and some old here. Writing has been difficult for me lately. You'd think I'd be getting a ton of it done because of all the quarantine time, but finding motivation, inspiration, and a head space that doesn't involve second-guessing stuff is proving to be difficult. I'll probably post a short update on novel progression and what not, but for now, here's some more poetry.

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I’m tryna do these dominoes.

I can’t even get like two to stay up.

Fuckers must be broken.

I got some pretty meaty hands, though.

No grace in these sausage fingers.

The foul odor lingers.

Acid Rain

Feel like I lost my mojo

Flapping glossy photos

You can hear the cracks when

The wind slaps the rowboat

Pant legs soggy

Head gone

And he left with no note!

I got a plaster cast on my brain

Going too fast in my lane

Maybe the past is a stain

Empty too vast and too plain

The wind shakes the mast in the rain

The wind shakes the mast in the rain

Dinner Time Villanelle

I pry through her meatloaf with dread

I had quite a surprise

What if it’s all in my head?

Speckled patches of red

I couldn’t believe my eyes

I pry through her meatloaf with dread

Squirming with little worms instead

Crawling through the meaty puss pies

What if it’s all in my head?

Juicy raw bits where they fed

Their larva hatching into flies

I pry through her meatloaf with dread

Out of crimson clusters they bled

Unaware of my teaming cries

What if it’s all in my head?

Fresh Life gnawing on remains of the dead

Blurring the lines between what’s alive

I pry through her meatloaf with dread

What if it’s all in my head?

Pills

Everyday is a hard pill to swallow

I can’t admit to defeat

I want to stand in the street

And yell at the cars

So they get to know me

I have my head in the stars

Face stuck to the pavement

On Sunset Boulevard

I guess I’m mad at myself

That’s another notch on the belt

How can I look at my health

Wax figure waiting to melt

That’s a hard pill to swallow

When you see the base of that

Rite Aid bottle

Grocery List

Tuna

Ice Cream

Milk

Eggs

Oatmeal

Fries

Diet Soda

Eggo Waffles

Apples

Tomato Sauce

Ham