writing

On writing: Personal?

PelgrisLeave a comment

I read the blogs of many writers and poets. Some are such better poets and writers than I that I sometimes despair. But let’s set that aside for now.

I see that many will tag a post as personal. Something that makes sense in the abstract but something I don’t, viscerally, understand. Everything I write is personal.

From the poem that asks you to “tell me” to the Erotic Lifestyle journey of Pel and Sara, to even my audio storytelling. I suppose the closest to distance I get is in Split Sky and Torn Asunder. But even there, there are characters and situations that I draw intimately from my experience. Hard as that may be to reconcile.

Maybe that’s just me. Taking the cliche of opening up a vein and pouring it out onto the page too seriously. Or maybe it’s just the way I write characters.

Which is by constructing them from their pasts so that I know who they are and what they want, then follow the steps that they would take given those traits and imperatives. Perhaps it’s inevitable that they would be so intimately connected to me that I can’t help but be personal.

On writing physical character description

PelgrisLeave a comment

I have a hard time writing about how people look. Clothes, no problem. The look in their eyes, the way they move or smile, I got it. But their physical look? I have to sit and ponder. Really think about it. Because on a fundamental level, I don’t see their looks when I look at them. I see their personality. Or my impression of that personality based on intuitive logic if we’ve just met. I call it, somewhat pretentiously, seeing with my heart. This doesn’t mean that I don’t see the physical, just that it’s not the first thing I think about when I think of someone. So, in my writing, I have to dig fairly deep into my own head to actually come up with the look of someone. I have to build them so that I know them entire before I know what they look like.

On writing poetry and sex

PelgrisLeave a comment

When I want to write a poem but can’t seem to find the key to start, I begin to feel a yearning for the release of writing. It is almost lust. Very much akin to desire to touch and be desired and to lose ourselves in our bodies. Those moans of pleasure and need, giving over to mindless rut. Until payoff and, for me, emptiness. In sex, when I make the destination instead of the journey the goal, I feel empty, cored out after. When I write, I feel empty after but somehow hopeful and lighter. It’s not poetry but at least it’s something. Writing a piece like this leaves me both satiated and hungry for something more. It’s not what I wanted but it’s what was available. But the poem is what I want. Like having vanilla sex but wanting complexity. Or wanting to hear your voice set in orgasm and never quite getting you there. Disappointing, somewhat enjoyable and also, not enough.

I’m tired of being

PelgrisLeave a comment

I would very much like it if a paramour would ask me out. Would say you’re interesting, want to be with me? I’m so tired of choosing and after a time falling and thinking that this person wants me as I want them and being wrong each time. I’m tired of putting myself out there and seemingly wanted then dropped like they grasped a adder. I’m tired of falling for the ones I can’t be with. Tired that only the ones that are safely taken have the least bit interest in me. Tired, just tired. I don’t want to have to be the strong one, the chooser, the asker all the time. It is exhausting.

I thought I’d found her. Got to know bits and pieces over 3 months, told her I was interested in more, that I was falling in love and wonder of wonders she said she was too, 6 weeks later she was gone. Off living her life like I was nothing. This isn’t “beating a dead horse”. This is me struggling to understand. What did I do? What didn’t I do? Was it the way I did it? I NEED to know the why’s. I NEED to know the intricacies. I cannot learn, cannot grow without that information. And in the absence of a long talk with her, I have only the pieces I have. So my mind goes over and over and over again each piece. Attempting to glean new information. Consider me posting a way of clearing out a bit of the debris from the process. Maybe it’s not interesting, maybe you don’t want to see me in pain. But it is necessary. It is how I work through things and come out stronger. Leaving things unexamined in the past, only feels ok in the immediate. In effect though, it’s like leaving unstable unexploded ordinance all over your psyche.

I know it’s not interesting to read. It’s not entertainment. I write stories for entertainment. Listen to one or read Pel and Sara. My poetry is art. I hope to strike a resonant chord. I hope to affect my reader. My thoughts are just that, thoughts. Maybe there will be value, maybe not. It’s all process.

I have a more than 2 year back catalog of poetry and stories like Why or Cubicle.
Hopefully those will tide you over while I’m getting a handle on developments in my life. 

Doors flung wide

Pelgris1 Comment

Paralyzed by joy
Like singing birdsong from a frog’s throat
This jumbled moment second hour
Lacking only your touch
Your voice
Your you
And the swiftly building possible

Ode to sorrow

PelgrisLeave a comment

there, into darkness, I walk
kiss me, taste me
the moment stands still
just me, just you

alone

Murmurs in a darkened room

PelgrisLeave a comment

uncertain, a flower faces the moon
glorious, perfection in the flaws
strive to give space
step to, be free
the breeze of the summer wind
welcomes her home

Writing poetry

PelgrisLeave a comment

I have not been writing much poetry lately. Basically because my poetry tends to come from a place of darkness and loss. And lately, I’ve been happy. I unboxed my memories of the night that My Morgan died and replayed through the events of that night. I came to the realization that I did everything I could. Took every measure possible. The weight I had been holding onto for 10+ years shifted to acceptance. This burden I had been placing, that I was the cause, that I was at fault fell away. There was a responsible party and it was not me.  Then I met someone interesting, beautiful though I had never seen them. We’ll see where that leads, but like I always say, Only forward.  This is good. These are good things. But it makes it hard to write my brooding poetry.  I’ll need to find another way to operate.

Running out of titles

Pelgris3 Comments

I am alone. And so poems and stories about lust make me feel connected. Like if someone thinks ‘hmm, that sounds lovely’ I am less alone. But I still wake, without someone in my arms. This is my fault of course. If I wanted to wake up beside someone, I could find a companion for the night. If I relaxed my criteria. If one night was all I wanted. I long for what I once had. But perhaps it was a once in a lifetime. Perhaps we were shooting stars racing to find which would flare out first. I’m tired of sifting sand, looking for the pearl. Perhaps I should reconcile to the fact that the type of person I desire will always be with someone else. They are too beautiful to not have found there hearts companion. I had my chance. It’s over.

New Podcast: Prehistoric Fish?

Pelgris8 Comments