I doubt that good poetry can be born out of big feelings. Big feelings are surprisingly shallow when it comes to anything not directly involved with the subject of desire (and there is always an subject of desire). Aren't you just happy when you are "really" happy? And isn't that just boring?
There's that difference as between 3:07am full of mysteries and sleepless 8 o'clock in the morning before another working day; or in drinking until you feel more than just yourself and drinking until you lose who you are at all.
Any food is so much better when it is serving its primary purpose - satisfying hunger, but in order to feel that pleasure you need to first of all come to that state of hunger, which is not that easy considering the amount of stress put on us by the abundance of unnecessary snack-shaped hunger prevention methods (simulations, haunting our right for pleasure we take in not dying (=eating), vulgarizing the very essence of it). Come on. Happiness is the same, it's a big race you feel like you need to win, but small superficial simulations just spoil the real pleasure that is hidden in the very impossibility of the victory.
Don't worry, be happy - kind-of-crap, another useless thing to write on a T-shirt to sell another fairly-well-off-nicely-aged-suicidal-urban-dweller before he hangs himself up in the toilet of a parking lot. Nah, mon cher ami, worry and rejoice, you are living in this world - not in a cereal commercial.
But anyway, I'd rather be happy and do bad poetry, but what I am doing right now is being strangely unhappy and doing no poetry at all. I guess this is how most of us choose to live, such a waste of oxygen.
There's that difference as between 3:07am full of mysteries and sleepless 8 o'clock in the morning before another working day; or in drinking until you feel more than just yourself and drinking until you lose who you are at all.
Any food is so much better when it is serving its primary purpose - satisfying hunger, but in order to feel that pleasure you need to first of all come to that state of hunger, which is not that easy considering the amount of stress put on us by the abundance of unnecessary snack-shaped hunger prevention methods (simulations, haunting our right for pleasure we take in not dying (=eating), vulgarizing the very essence of it). Come on. Happiness is the same, it's a big race you feel like you need to win, but small superficial simulations just spoil the real pleasure that is hidden in the very impossibility of the victory.
Don't worry, be happy - kind-of-crap, another useless thing to write on a T-shirt to sell another fairly-well-off-nicely-aged-suicidal-urban-dweller before he hangs himself up in the toilet of a parking lot. Nah, mon cher ami, worry and rejoice, you are living in this world - not in a cereal commercial.
But anyway, I'd rather be happy and do bad poetry, but what I am doing right now is being strangely unhappy and doing no poetry at all. I guess this is how most of us choose to live, such a waste of oxygen.
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