After the end of the world
after my death
I found myself in the middle of life
creating myself
building a life
people animals landscapes
man should be loved
I learned by night by day
what should one love
I answered man
this is a manthis is a tree this is bread
people eat in order to live
I kept repeating to myself
human life is important
human life has great importance
the value of life
surpasses the value of every object
man has made
man is a great treasure
I kept repeating stubbornly
this is water I kept saying
stroking the waves with my hand
talking to the river
water I said
kind water
it is I
- extracts pieced together from In the Middle of Life, a longer Polish poem by Tadeusz Rozewicz.
*This is minimalism. I miss my Fall poetry class. It taught me how much I can cut. He taught me to speak backwards. But now I've forgotten. I've forgotten much. Apologetic, oh! I was petrifying to listen to, to watch - she tried, shifting The History of Sexuality from left palm to right - me stammering on about guilt, a dry anguish told through a dry mouth. She said no need. And fled. Some time between 7:30 and 8:30 pm I was debased again. Extraordinary! And no effort on his behalf. I am yet to meet a creative writing professor who likes me. I offend them, personally, this is my only rationale. It always appears as hate, but never does it feel that uncomplicated. I am ready to resign from spring. She recommended an incomplete, "Sit with Foucault for two or three weeks, then write. Your analysis of Mishima was superior, original, insightful. But here, around this red ink, you mistook Foucault, power, you said the opposite. Sit with him. Write." Until the end of May? I couldn't. I have to move. I'm guilty or I feel I am. "No need. He isn't your interest. I read your rationale, extremely interesting. Tomorrow? Let's work you out after." No need. No need. My colloquium is tomorrow. I still have so much to consume. I always want more. Checked two books out tonight. Found phenomenal existential psychoanalysts at 12:30. I want to add them too! I want to show them off to the world. I want them heard.. even if by only one or two people. I want people to read what I read. I want to know what you read. Recently I have received the most gripping messages in the mail, also quotes sent to me. Thank you. I am terrible responding. But they make me feel closer, they also open me up, encourage me forth. Last night, he and his umbrella. He could stuff a family of five beneath its girth. Time calmed, the city drenched. "If you hadn't shown up to your own invite," he decided, "I would have known you were suffering from anguish." Oh but I am, that's why I made sure to reach out to you, it got me here. And it had. I've been 'flaky' as ever. The existentialist will tell you, there is no excuse for your action. It is true, this is me at a certain time. I told him this. And he laughed along, "As if the world is exerting his stress on you." It was funny. I walked to the story of his "philosopher's walk". He told me it's the substitution to psychedelic drugs. "It's 420, I don't want to talk drugs." To me, it's stupid, but this doesn't have to mean or matter anything to anyone. So yes, tomorrow/today my colloquium. I've learned. I've taught myself. And really, thanks to these hours of making sense and not, of being and not being, I've had to acknowledge my habits, my years, fear. And all of this came from desire. The lack. Before, when I made this study up, I never would have taken desire to mean the missing, the insatiable, the impossible, the always present-absence. He said I know what I am doing, that at graduate school I'll come in with more than most. Something like that. Existentialism tells you to take responsibility of "I". Kierkegaard said, The self is only that which is the process of becoming. I'm a fan of him, but not of the notion of becoming. I am more focused on being. Not continuing to look out into the future. Becoming insinuates desire, the dissatisfaction, the drive toward the impossible, impractical illusory ideal. No thanks. But, yes, I take responsibility. This here is me in process of my self-project. There are periods where it does and will drag on, obsessively, indulgently inward, and other periods when it will venture elsewhere. I don't think I will change. But I know my tone will. It has, it does. All this, these months, maybe they were an effort to embody my undergraduate project, the human dilemma.
*This is minimalism. I miss my Fall poetry class. It taught me how much I can cut. He taught me to speak backwards. But now I've forgotten. I've forgotten much. Apologetic, oh! I was petrifying to listen to, to watch - she tried, shifting The History of Sexuality from left palm to right - me stammering on about guilt, a dry anguish told through a dry mouth. She said no need. And fled. Some time between 7:30 and 8:30 pm I was debased again. Extraordinary! And no effort on his behalf. I am yet to meet a creative writing professor who likes me. I offend them, personally, this is my only rationale. It always appears as hate, but never does it feel that uncomplicated. I am ready to resign from spring. She recommended an incomplete, "Sit with Foucault for two or three weeks, then write. Your analysis of Mishima was superior, original, insightful. But here, around this red ink, you mistook Foucault, power, you said the opposite. Sit with him. Write." Until the end of May? I couldn't. I have to move. I'm guilty or I feel I am. "No need. He isn't your interest. I read your rationale, extremely interesting. Tomorrow? Let's work you out after." No need. No need. My colloquium is tomorrow. I still have so much to consume. I always want more. Checked two books out tonight. Found phenomenal existential psychoanalysts at 12:30. I want to add them too! I want to show them off to the world. I want them heard.. even if by only one or two people. I want people to read what I read. I want to know what you read. Recently I have received the most gripping messages in the mail, also quotes sent to me. Thank you. I am terrible responding. But they make me feel closer, they also open me up, encourage me forth. Last night, he and his umbrella. He could stuff a family of five beneath its girth. Time calmed, the city drenched. "If you hadn't shown up to your own invite," he decided, "I would have known you were suffering from anguish." Oh but I am, that's why I made sure to reach out to you, it got me here. And it had. I've been 'flaky' as ever. The existentialist will tell you, there is no excuse for your action. It is true, this is me at a certain time. I told him this. And he laughed along, "As if the world is exerting his stress on you." It was funny. I walked to the story of his "philosopher's walk". He told me it's the substitution to psychedelic drugs. "It's 420, I don't want to talk drugs." To me, it's stupid, but this doesn't have to mean or matter anything to anyone. So yes, tomorrow/today my colloquium. I've learned. I've taught myself. And really, thanks to these hours of making sense and not, of being and not being, I've had to acknowledge my habits, my years, fear. And all of this came from desire. The lack. Before, when I made this study up, I never would have taken desire to mean the missing, the insatiable, the impossible, the always present-absence. He said I know what I am doing, that at graduate school I'll come in with more than most. Something like that. Existentialism tells you to take responsibility of "I". Kierkegaard said, The self is only that which is the process of becoming. I'm a fan of him, but not of the notion of becoming. I am more focused on being. Not continuing to look out into the future. Becoming insinuates desire, the dissatisfaction, the drive toward the impossible, impractical illusory ideal. No thanks. But, yes, I take responsibility. This here is me in process of my self-project. There are periods where it does and will drag on, obsessively, indulgently inward, and other periods when it will venture elsewhere. I don't think I will change. But I know my tone will. It has, it does. All this, these months, maybe they were an effort to embody my undergraduate project, the human dilemma.
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