Another Nor’easter


Tired of writing and thinking

about nothingness.

So writing instead on nothing.

Sadness is looking back.

In that time,

emptiness. Reality not represented

because of abstract lenses.

Stuck, the same thing every day.

Thoreau and Emerson- beyond understanding,

transcendentalism is not for the hungry.

The dog is getting old, he is loved.

Mother will never stop worrying.

In a costume against better judgment.

Not having much longer, never having much longer.

Not having much worth saying.

All too often everything is unbearable.

And that is almost a lie, since everything continues.

Not apt for this. Circle, self-referring solo, meditating

on another illusion

how this has gone on for too long.

No more poetry: rotten fruit for worthless humans.

Waiting to get it all over with. Tired of writing about the self,

it is due to a lack of creativity.

Once more unto the blackness friends, dull acquaintances.

Universal pain in the ribs, glorious unglory.

Uneverything and wiseness down the drain. Forget these lacerations

memorize each breath. All drivel, fucking worthless words.

Cyclical redundancy inhabiting each thought.

Cramping limbs, giving comfort when there is nothing else.

Only hallucinating the intangible

lights, shadows, redness. Not like there are a bunch of crab apparitions

appearing randomly. Lacan would not alleviate any of it.

Ringing inscribed in impermanent stone.

Stinging words in deep ironically,

permanent things on a temporary body. Death does not do us part.

Nothing leaves this physical encasement. Iron wires wrapped around flesh.

Exposed to alienation, there is barely a shell left.

Every day seems like the last until it all gets boring.

Split between mediocrity and familiarity. Only a piece, purple,

royalty or almighty? I wrote that I was done with poetry on more than one occasion

attention grabbing advertisement specializing in arbitrariness.

Smells like bleach, I’d like to think someone got stabbed here last night.

Well, I don’t like it, I just thought of it, perhaps I sub-consciously like to think of such things.

I’d like to get stabbed one of these days.

I think of it often.

21 thoughts on “Another Nor’easter

  1. I’m nothing if not suicidal and I enjoyed this post. There were many familiar themes and images, of course, but it’s strangely liberating experiencing these feelings through someone else’s form of expression. Thank you.

        1. S L Lynch,

          Like dutifullybrocken sais:
          When I’m in pain, I feel pain. When I’m in joy I feel joy.
          It’s all about the feeling, whatever unpleasant it is.
          You gave me a feeling to remember and feel through. Perhaps you freed it forever. : )
          It’s a good thing.

          Waywardspirit

      1. Interesting, well thank you for expressing your feelings here. I’m happy I gave you a memorable reaction. Thank you very much for digesting, not just reading, I am grateful to have you here.

      1. Pascal wasn’t responding to the view of God as an oversimplification like that. In fact, I think it is too often asserted by New Age apologists that Christians, Muslims, and Jews have this idea of a proverbial, judgmental old man with a beard. Theologians, and also informed followers of the Abrahamic religions would beg to differ, in that their view of God is abstract, universal, not literal. Catholicism, for example, does not just mean universal in the context of the church. I am disdainful of religious proselytizing on the internet, whether it be Taoist, or Evangelical “born again” Christian.

  2. Appreciate the follow, Sean, and especially, this post, too. You have an obvious gift with imagery and expression. I look forward to reading more and although I know there can be darkness in the world at times, wish you excesses of light in life.

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