4131(default numbering)

 

sometimes, at times, maybe even at frequent intervals: I wondered if it was worth it
the delicacy, the articulacy, of “friendships”, “friends” and all “companionships” that
have that platonica and agape in its wake: wakes like storms and funerals, funereal
in my word choice. Pondering this because all my chronologia, my genealogies added
on people are reducible to rubble. I am not saying I want some grand summation that
all things are mutually there, quid pro quo, yet it is the lack of me being valued; holding
even a significant will-of-the-wisp type imagery in you; a surreal palpable of some oddness. This “you” is not singular person yet singular unit of blotched and botched
communications, clashes, petit-catastrophes that make apostrophes either prominent
or irrelevant. There is no boundaries or too many modest looking picket fences that scream all the fiefdom ownerships that one wants to carry. Maybe I am too sensuous or too something that wants some reciprocals that some can’t handle.

I feel alone. Like a lonely ripple: annexed by the vortex of crystalline parameters.▬

It’s Probably a Metaphor but…

“. By the end of the class, “The Red Wheel Barrow” had become an epic poem about the struggle between the good and innocent white chickens and the satanic red wheelbarrow” Seriously, this line made me laugh out loud literally for one minute. And the rest of this post is pretty postilicious.

Waiting Outside of Parnassus

The great evil rears it ugly head once more.

One of the few memories from high school that stands out to me is a substitute teacher struggling to teach twenty bored teenagers about William Carlos Williams’ “The Red Wheel Barrow.” He asked the class, “What does the color white represent?” Students would answer goodness, purity, innocence. By the end of the class, “The Red Wheel Barrow” had become an epic poem about the struggle between the good and innocent white chickens and the satanic red wheelbarrow. I may have actually sprained my eye muscles from rolling them so often.

Over a decade later, I now stand in front of a room full of college Freshman and am tasked with teaching them about poetry—well, about analyzing texts, I’m just lucky to have a little freedom with my curriculum and get to select those texts. Most of the students…

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playings

things playing with a  staticity; owning me in their random chessboard of sepulchre knights
with the queen in nights and day-borne sentry seeing the kings so sombre
pressing me into games I played and played
why is it that though I play by the rules agreed by others
and hope for respectful mutuals I gain a tease, a distrust,
a declaration that the salinity of my sociability
is on a PH 0…▬

How friendship is a “non-friendly” babushka doll concept

The french word “Être” is a multitudinous organism. It has multiple applications but it’s general English meaning is “to be” — yeah, despite French’s concreteness which is shared by many languages the word “to be” is as flexible as the circumflex across its head. The French poet, Andre Breton, had written the poem, The Verb To Be, with all intentions, to talk about the multitudinous ways he feels despair. I am not one who clings to despair much. I think that life is meant to be lived. Hope is important, more Être than despair. This does not mean I do not have periods of despair or mock and condescension those to whom despair is known.

What to me matters is that like the verb “to be” friendships are “to be” as zigzaggy and slopey as that circumflex carrying verb. Friendship is a noun. It has its adjective and its verb. Yet it entails a concept that is not always concretely defined. It needn’t be nor should it be for each person has a flexible way of being friends. However, friendship is more difficult at times  than romance and love and erotic engagements. I finally understand why people say it is hard, genuinely so, at times, or maybe forever, to be friends with a lover or spouse. Not that it’s impossible or non-probable. But maybe their friendship styles are not to them definable as successes or things they enjoy all the time.

Friends have a license to be  at times inordinately insensitive, narcissistic, self-centered and rude. Of course, your good friends won’t really be this all the time or maybe never. You can’t manage a relationship of the romantic/erotic/love sort with those qualities. Not that romantic relationships are dishonest. They are not designed to be dishonest either unless you make them so. It’s just in those relationships humans automatically attempt to be the best they can be. And that is why love like that is prized.

In friendships we sometimes don’t make the effort. We do annex and arrest a person’s  threshhold of understanding. As in we can take advantage of it. This is “honesty” too just not of the best policy sort. Because we inadvertently do at times act pretty mean to our friends, feeling that their patience and love, will undoubtedly not create a rift.

This is to an extent understandable. It is why friendship encompasses the wide berth of empathy and sympathy. However, this is also someething that can get out of control.

We all love Joyce’s Ulysses and maybe even tamper Finnegan’s Wake. We also love Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway and Orlando. However, those too are given to syntax and grammar of its own that does thoroughly negate the necessity of a common language. The individual inflections pass in between those patchworks and thus a novelistic narrative of friendship  is constructed and maintained.

If you circumvent that your friendships will imminently, inevitably suffer.

It is both classical prose with neo-avante grande or postmodernist punctuations that make each friendship. Uniqueness cannot be discrete from all commonality and divorced from the lateral conceptions of attributes as caring and solidarity.

In the video game Outlast: Whistleblower, a prequel and interquel-paraquel of the game Outlast, the protagonist Waylon Park writes in a note that his wife, Lisa Park, had said that he was too “literal” and went for “if-then statements” — he with a lot of gravity realises that things are not like that. That becomes tautological almost. Though Waylon is a mathematician/mathematical genius of sorts I am not. However, I did share this propensity at times with “if-then statements” in certain regards.

It’s like  “attention+care=trust”, I was foolish to believe it would always go like that. People can be cruel or I can mess up and then not be forgiven. I forgot that “être” was around and that it was a free radical, a  morpheme, a part generative grammar borderlining the boundaries of didactical syntax. People are too complex and complicated. Both in good and bad ways.

Each friendship is like a babushka doll, unearthing each layer takes the pulley system of string theory (romance is also like that but I guess we also correspond to it faster).

This is both a beauty and tragedy of friendships.

Depends on the contexts, subsequent sequences or non-chronological chain of events.

Depends on the words you made known and unknown.

something about being friends

 

hoping you would understand the relevance of me
carrying a slight dash of your tears in my eyes
for a grief given to you to yet I cried…hoping that weeping for you
adjusted that atlas weight you carried…

chaptering on some faraway wishes, I thought we were “we”
did not mean to be just a “we” as a classical number pair
imagining that all this affection would not affect what I called “you”

maybe, you style in a way that means you are “hearty” with some distance
you congruent some distance to build an appetite, for maybe, you feel words
need to be stored to be used like harvests of  autumnal spring

but I don’t think we are always reading the same page with same accents
scuffing in my tongue becomes quicker, you bend your more sylph anatomy
you know the rush of adrenalines , madnesses and clean hearted work
maybe on maybe I am just too much of a child, for me friend is like skylines, an everyday…▬

Of Toxic People

“Worst of all, their poisoning is not a death but, an initiation, a contagion, when they eventually turn you into one of them, if its too late. You move on with a conviction to continue the process.”

Very well written definitions and perspectives on toxicity and toxic people.

Of Opinions

Source: http://i.huffpost.com/gen/1572869/thumbs/o-DEPRESSION-facebook.jpg Source: http://i.huffpost.com/gen/1572869/thumbs/o-DEPRESSION-facebook.jpg

I’ll make a wild guess and say that the word “toxic,” when used to describe a person and not a substance, is probably an American invention. I presume if a person would be described as toxic in the olden days, it would be someone who literally wants to poison you, using a literal poison. Killing me softly, even unconsciously, must be a phenomenon of our modern age. I’ve already discussed tough love, which may be taken as a sub-category of this practice. When we’re talking about toxic people, we’re not talking about people who clearly hate us, overtly or secretly. Really, these people are either much too invested in or indifferent to our existence to wilfully hurt us. In the extreme scale of love and hate, they occupy the grey area. Unlike the ones who hate or the ones who love, these people often escape detection and…

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