[Poem a Day] “Bridge”

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Trying something new when it comes to my writing routine recently.

I’ve always been the kind of person who can’t write to music with words with it. Always sort of felt like my thought process gets drowned out by the act of absorbing the music, and parsing the words, and how much I’m delving into what I’m listening to, so if I do listen to music while I write, it’s usually something repetitive and without lyrics – like lofi-chillhop or something.

But recently, I’ve really been trying to work around the music I usually listen to, and the process has become a bit interesting, actually. I’m still fixated on the words while I’m writing, but there almost feels like there’s a push and pull sometimes between what I’m listening to and what’s going down on the page, and a conversation can take place if I just sort of give myself to stream of consciousness and write without thinking too hard about it.

Definitely something I want to keep messing around with a bit more.

[Poem a Day] “Generational Drift”

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Of course, no town really dies as a matter of change. Development creates layers – things are built on top of other things in the spirit of other things until you’ve caught up with the times, and then you live like that until things have just sort of sped on ahead of you again. But underneath the new paint is still the old paint – no one’s bothered to get rid of that, and there’s still enough around for people to get sentimental about…

…as evidenced by ever-dramatic poets like yours truly.

 

[Poem a Day] “Moon Worshipers”

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Looking forward to getting over this flu bug more than anything else. It’s not as though I’m at a loss of what to write about, I think it’s all still brewing up there – it just feels as though I’m writing through a haze right now. Despite writing not really being a physically taxing activity by any means, I think little kinks in your current state of health are always going to give what you come up with a bit of a bend.

Mostly I think it’s just the degree to which present mentality actually affects your writing. Subject matter can exist in a bubble, but there’s only so much the writer can completely isolate from the current piece they’re working on. Because of how personally involved writing is, things are bound to seep in subconsciously, even things as subtle and seemingly inconsequential as “shit, my head feels stuffed to an ungodly degree right now”.

[Poem a Day] “Edison”

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Old train stations just kind of hang in space when I remember them. They’re these islands, almost – stationary waypoints you stop at, get on, get off – they’re a stop before you get to where you’re going, but never where you’re actually going. Seems to be a recurring theme. Hotels, trains, stopover towns, unfamiliar cities. Stop at one to move to another. It’ll be there the next time you need to pass on through.

And there’s comfort in that, I suppose.

[Poem a Day] “Umbrellas and All”

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Stream of consciousness is comforting.

Sometimes it feels like you’re working with a small spread of photographs laid out on the floor in front of you. They’ve been taken on different days, with different cameras, and are of different people, or places, but you feel like there are these small threads spanning one to the other when you look at them – little leaps that can be made from image to image that keep the story rolling. The ending point is ambiguous. It can land definitively at a hard stop, or falter mid-sentence, hanging there waiting for something – applause, outcry, affirmation, you’ll never know. It doesn’t need you to.