part II

i reccomend listening to the audio as its a bit of a long read.

 

Part II
 
Then I arrive at my destination
some rundown flat in Berlin
of a friend
I lie down stare
blankly
at the blankness of the crème
-coloured ceiling, the weathered
paint fading ever so before my eyes.
 
The notebook
fills with words as if
(sitting with a good friend telling him the same old story)
by magic. The cigarette
rolled
ready to go
Herr Ben, looking sharp
drinking tea
the hangover cutting deep scars
upon his face

we go for a swim
the water’s fresh
the pool full of families
of migrants and retirees (and 2 gorgeous Norwegians)
my face stands out here
(always does, somehow)
a tourist

origin unknown
even to me
the world a travelling circus
red flags prop up, then folded
off to the next site
I’m just a spectator
meeting with my dear friends
in the carny.
as they head their nomadic lives
evermore across the deserted plains
off to places people only
talk about
but never visit;
Mythic locations transgressing
the reality
the desert of the real.
 
(Beauty is always has
always been transcendental
so it should
come to no surprise
that the world when
boiled down to its foundations
is but a speck of dust
in the cosmos
of no worth or value;
beauty is an effect
not a description,
but the result from
an act of will,
Willenskraft
the destination of a sharp
determined mind, spirits
in the search of a home)
 
Then we come back
I gaze at the paint some more
Him, waiting for a phonecall
I’m waiting for something else,
something else.
 
Sitting here idly,
not idly,
in fixiated anticipation of
something.
And instead nothing
passes over
no thing, jut empty-headed
hours and countless cigarettes
badly rolled by my clumsy fingers
the Cold Air getting me
finally, and not enough blankets
not enough firewood or cups
of tea,
nothing keeps the temperature out.


Anger
alone relieves me
but it’s only short-term
it always burns fast
and dissolves in an instant
like the flame of a match-head
the orange glow
beautiful but deadly
and if only one does not touch
it with their skin.
Fire, and my frustration
always burns leaving scars
to whatever it touches
my anger, not mine
the world’s, thrusted upon me
expressed through me
and it all winds down into a spiral
when at last a typhoon
is born. No towns,
no cities left standing
after I
lose control, lose patience
lose the will to fight
on the plains of my soul
and let the devil win
lose the energy
lose reason, meaning
even an excuse
not to give in.
 
And my heart is still dying
still aching, still beating
still pumping blood, still yearning
still burning.
They stand still on the balcony
those two lovers
just eyes open
dead stares into the deathly desert
of the Grey City.
First we take Manhattan…


Forevermore
our bodies will be sites
of disaster, anarchy
of alcoholism
of drugs, mind-altering
emaciating
of sorrow
of pity
even after the fog clears
we’ll still be here
you and me
like two lost birds
standing on a telephone wire
the line hanging
across, interstellar
and I write that best-seller
signing blank pages
fans cuing for hours
smile, smiling faces
This Name being spoken
after numerous ages

the stones weather and turn to sand
our ghosts drifting across the land
you and me
holding hands, gleaming
unaffected by space or time
hanging on the line;
the beatification of the mime.
Like the leaning tower,
we too, too stubborn
refuse to fall over
sinking
yes we do, but
not completely…
thinking, again I drift
indulge in the depths
of furious contemplation.
 
. . .

 

2014.

Author's Note

thanks for reading.
this is part ii of a very long poem i wrote during a trip to berlin. at the time i was in a mixed-episode, sometimes suicidal and sometimes euphoric, oscillitating between these states rapidly. an old friend let me stay in his apartment. and as fate would have it, he was also depressed at the exact same time, self-medicating with alcohol.
i wrote this chapter in his kitchen as he sat across the table, chain-smoking, gazing out into nothing. i read out some of the stuff i wrote, he said it was 'fantastic' (he's easy to please).
there's a lot more to this trip and i will be filling in details in the Notes section as i add chapters to clarify the context of this body of work.

Reviews

[Michael Sun Bear]

Good afternoon Ern. So far I have both read and listened to your YouTube recitations of Chapters I and II. I’m not sure why, but I am more affected by listening to you recite out loud. I haven’t yet gone further as I am letting a little time go by, then listening again, then repeating. Each time I find, I focus on something new, get more out of it. I really like it. I will probably listen to both chapters a couple more times, then go on to the remaining chapters. Well done.

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

thanks Michael. i am incredibly flatterred you like my rusty voice and even rustier writing. this work is without a philosophy, i was writing in a crazed state of mind as if trying to express mental chaos in words. that's why it probably works better as sound poetry rather than a text to analyze - hence i recorded it.

thank you, thank you, thank you for coming by. please revisit as many times as you please.

[Thomas W Case]

Superb work. Powerful and well crafted.

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

thanks thomas!

[Robert Trakofler]

I have read this several times before saying anything because it is a lot to unpack. firstly if you keep writing in prose like this that best seller book is not such an unattainable thing! secondly the image of you both sitting at a table in a state of depression drowning your numbskull brains in a sea of despondency made me lol! It made me want to appear floating above your table in drag queen attire with a rusty halo hung by a shoddy wire and slap you silly saying things like silly boys alcohol is a depressant and you were already pickled before you started drinking lol! I speak from experience my friend I was a wretched alcoholic in my younger days the sort that would regularly end up in jail or soil my pants bar fights that i didn't remember just wretched lol I have a wonderful friend of whom is truly one of the most gifted painters I have ever witnessed he never stopped his drinking even when I told him once when in a period of sobriety he made some extraordinary work I had the gull to say it to him and his response was not a good one he was insulted to no end and never spoke of it again... the point of it is he believed the alcohol was like his muse he was perhaps afraid to let go of it I am speaking in conjecture here but I think his artistry was grand in spite of it not better for it. we all have to dance with the devil to get to these places my friend but we don't have to kill ourselves for the sake of art the darkness is always there for the taking we just don't need to help it along in its cause:) that's what this guy would have said to those two birds on the wire (great analogy)

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

i really wish you would have showed up in drag to tell us young sods off. that would have made that moment slightly more surreal. in act, i wish to conjure you up right now because that would be fun and the bottle is starting to look more and more tempting around this time.
i have never thought of alcohol as anything other than a vice, even as i was drinking heavily (or actually, i thought that even more while i was drinking). this work was written many moons ago but a memory that has stuck and now am ready to share. but the beat (or off-beat) way of writing it - there is a lot of gaps to be filled by the reader - was to me, something i needed to do as an artist. the mood in that room, on that trip elt like this and writing with more clarity would not have captured that feeling.
thank you for the deep dive. i wasnt sure anyone would take so much interest in this series, but im glad i was able to reach somebody. i will work on becoming a best-seller...

[Neville]

What an incredible journey you have just shared here and for all eternity .. I am not only impressed but elsewise also near struck dumb & struggle to find words adequate enough to convey my respect .. Neville

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

thanks Neville. this trip was one of the most surreal times in my life - combined with my depression, my alcoholic firend - who is an eccentric even when he's sober - along with being in a new city, not able to speak the language well. this work was intended to describe my inner state, which as you have picked up, was kinda crazy.
thanks for your comment as always. Ern.

[Neville]

Always more than welcome Ern .. Neville 👍

[Eilis]

In this poem entry, I really enjoyed the digressive parts where you ruminate on some subject or other—the part about beauty in particular stood out to me in your reading. There’s a sense of knowledge there, a deep understanding or conviction that feels essential to the bigger picture as you go on but also it feels like a working out of ideas and trying to formulate answers. I think of the phrase static exploration. I know when I’m having periods of deep depression I think endlessly and there can be some transformative sort of traveling thoughts but I lack the will to move in the knowledge. I felt the heaviness of the state of mind and how that sort of cemented the ideas as they flowed through.

I like this as a snapshot of time and place. Another poet here has a series of what I call travelogue poems where he was away from home for many years and documented his travels through theses kind of explorations of both what is seen and heard but also what that induces within the mind and spirit. I think when we share how places make us feel it illuminates so much. Like how the place stamped its energy on us or how our circumstances prevented that. Sometimes the mind prevents full participation. This poem offers that sense alongside the ways you’ve shown how it felt to be a tourist in this time and place.

I really enjoyed the section about how you felt like a tourist everywhere. A sort of permanent wanderer moving among other wanderers. It’s a stirring part of the narrative and also adds to that sense of being alienated. But it’s an inescapable alienation rooted in mind. How we begin seeing ourselves can impact how we see everything I think and color our experiences in various ways. We are the subjects of our stories so often in ways we aren’t fully capable of explaining. So I liked the almost objective voice of the narrative in that part as though you were both within the mind and standing outside of it discerning the moment.

There was a lot I liked about this really. It’s difficult for me at this moment to name it all without writing too much, but I did think I’d buy this book if I picked it up in a bookstore and flipped through reading either of these poems you’d shared. It’s really excellent work, Ern. I’m glad you decided to share.

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

thank you Eilis. as always, your comments give me a lot to think about.

actually, i was planning to write a more standard travelogue when buying the notebook. but when the ink hit the page it transformed into something else. cathartic and incoherent and dionystic.

at the same time, there are moments where i really step out of myself and see myself objectively. a therapist once described me as 'super-functional.' i feel crap, but i can logically explain all the reasons why (but not always how to cure it). im not sure where i picked up this skill but it's how i managed to live with my extreme mood swings. i am surprised however that it was expressed in my writing, i did notice doing that.

thank you for your commnts. i am very interested in what people think about my work and what they say about it. i write, the reader analyzez. and through reading reviews i can understand better wat it really means. this series is particularly good for that because of how wild and unchoreographed they are.

[Eilis]

You are welcome, Ern. I enjoy your writing.

[Lorry]

This reads and sounds like more than just a story, but a therapy of self. Do any of us fit in anywhere is a thought common to my introspective thoughts, but moreso when in a place strange to me. I guess it would be classed as homesickness to most, but then you delve deeper than just introspection and suddenly there are too many thoughts all vying for your attention and it becomes too much. At least that's how it works in my head.
Anger can be fleeting, but after it's gone, the questions still remain.
As we do, we find the therapy that works for us and writing I believe is the one common thing we both have at our will to try quieten the questions that can consume us with their incessant urgency and noise.
I really enjoyed reading this and thank you for sharing. That is another great therapeutic benefit to us all.
Keep writing. I hope you find your calm and peace soon.

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

thanks Lorry. while writing this i told myself 'don't think, just write.' which is a form of therapy, certainly. and while there are many ideas that could be unpacked, the process of writing itself helped me to get through a difficult time. i hope to continue doing that, ad i hope you find that writing is a release for you. i for one will be more than happy to read any such work.

[Sami Khalil]

Lots of conversation within and contemplation without. The author is anticipatory and willing to forgo at times.
The reader is invited to fill in the details and take the journey with the author.
He is right; lots of people self-medicate to relief when can't self-motivate to act upon
Enjoyed!

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

i was initially never planning to publish this work anywhere because it was so personal and cryptic. when i read it, it transports me back. but i decided to try and share this with others to see what they might think. so im glad you took the time (its a long one) to read this and it gave you some kind of experience.

always grateful for your comments,

Ern.

[Sami Khalil]

No problem at all; sharing is caring. You are welcome sir.