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Monday, February 12, 2007


How is it that I have lost the ability to put my thoughts into words? I cannot say when it disappeared, but now I find that I have to strain hard, blindly reaching out into the darkness before touching the words I need. Sometimes I cannot find them. Words used to be my friends, my companions. Now they scare me, anger me, flickering tauntingly just beyond the boundaries of my consciousness.

Could it be because I have stopped writing poetry? How that stopped is another mystery. My theory is that it evaporated because it was born out of such pain, and when I found the one and the pain was dissolved in the radiant feeling of finally, terminally belonging to him, so did the poetry. I do not think that there is such a thing as happy poetry. The best poetry I know is dark and heart-wrenchingly alone and sad. I mourn for my dead companion. Yet if I analyze the situation, it is simply my ability to produce poetry that has disappeared. The desire still burns passionately within my heart. This can become severely painful at times.

On the other hand, my mind has become a recording device, selectively recording phrases out of songs, out of conversations, out of books, replaying it time and again until I feel that I will go insane if I hear it once more. And yet, it plays on. A phrase might last for a day, or for weeks. What is the meaning of this?

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