If this semester in college taught me anything, it's that following a regiment and having a concrete notion of what the future entails makes me feel strangled. It's the same reason certain videogames don't appeal to me: if I know what's going to happen, then why keep playing? The magic is gone. I also have a fairly expectation of a good outcome --- I can be happy in a variety of situations as long as there is creativity, love and of course a level of mystery. So I return to English and philosophy, two of the fields that still hold a little modern exploration and mystery. We've trounced the oceans and the forests, but our own consciousnesses remain ever shifting, a multiple choice question no matter how many times we've gazed into it. For instance where I used to see an abyss of blood and silence, I explored again months later and found comfort in my schizoidal world characters and scenarios. Now my life is more normal and integrated, communal with the man I love, so the adventure now is creating an internal world that incorporates a viewpoint that reflects the changes I've made in myself on the journey through my twenties.
In this spirit I open with a poem I've set on the burner for this past week.
Home
Living arrangements.
Cut flowers, sliced to civilize them;
standing in the foyer crystal encapsulated:
to civilize you
with an appreciation for beauty
removed. I refuse to root and throw away.
I compartmentalize, water and distill.
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