Entry 11: Midsummer

Has it really been two years since my last entry? Even more, in fact. I once saw a quote and I don't know the source, but it was something along the lines of "when you're an adult the days seem long but the years are short". Which means I'm officially an adult, I guess? 

So, what better way to celebrate my acquired badge of adulthood than to celebrate midsummer (a swedish tradition that includes, but is not limited to, imitating frogs dancing around a phallic pole dressed in various floral arrangements) than to write, read and reminisce over some of my previous poetry works. And boy, has my writing evolved. Well, I rarely write in english anymore which is a bummer. I guess the stranger that told me that you write better in your native language was right after all. He was also a pompus dick; A double-edged sword of passion, creativity and a heavy dose of I-am-better-than-you-in-every-way. Did you notice how I snuck in a semicolon in that sentence? I did so because it was a sentence I could've ended, but chose not to, mostly based on the fact that his pompous dickery was to such an extent that it, well, needed to be extended even in writing. 

Sometimes I wonder if I should feel bad. I feel too clean when I'm in a mentally good place, like I need something to tarnish my pristine presence. And here I am wondering about the root cause of my problems. But I'm good, really. I'm mature, like a perfectly ripe cherry. Just call me sweet and red (burgundy?), and most of all juicy. I no longer feel hollow which is a relief. I guess this is what it feels like to actually enjoy life? Is it the sunny weather perhaps? I swear I'm sober. 

I've been thinking about my last entry, and also a reflection I remember sharing with my therapist - about creativity needing a melancholic source to truly thrive. I still stand by that, I don't think I can write with the same depth and passion as when I was really down in the gutter. Which makes sense if you give it some thought, feelings are fuel for poems and for some evolutionary reason, humans evolved to take negative feelings more seriously and be more greatly affected by them than feelings of joy and hapiness, which nowadays can be counted as a given standard for being a functioning, civilized, LinkedIn junkie - coffee addicted - salad munching - adult person. So feelings of anger and sadness bear more potency, which also brings more fuel to the fire. And I guess that is the best way to describe really good poetry - as a fire. The initial blow is immensely painful and your reaction is to look away and remove yourself from it. However, if you persist you will find yourself immersed in a transic state by the dancing flames, slowly melting away and into the poem itself. Finally, you burn to a crust as the final words sink into your core and you are left as a low-density piece of coal, ready to be burned once again as your newfound purpose.

Or you just read a poem that resonates with you, make a small mental note that you liked the poem and move on with your day. The one or the other, doesn''t really matter, what matters is that poetry is such an intricate artform that undertakes the impossible task of harvesting feelings and putting these into words, building a bridge between the hidden inner world and the explicit world. This requires not only skill, but also bravery to face every feeling headon: every insecurity, every betrayal, every mourned loved one, every defeat, every single inch of despair, and distill this into words that not only fit together but play together, breaking the rules ever so slightly. 

Man I can only wish that I will master the art of poetry one day. But then again, is that my goal? SHOULD that be my goal? My heart says it shouldn't, but my brain is shallow. What is my goal even? I think becoming content rather than happy, that seems reasonable. 

But right now my goal is to get some sought after sleep. Maybe I'll see you again in two years, my personal purgatory/diary. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow. I'm like a bicycle, you won't hear me coming but you'll sure feel it when I crash into you... or something like that. 

Nighty night!