It's In the Ink

Sir (Shepherd) asked me to write a page about my personal goals for this year, with the caveat that it not be about relationships, and not be about kink --- and I’m not sure where to begin.  I worry that any personal goals outside of my current ones to explore my own darkness and masochism, and to learn what it is that drives me to develop multiple, committed, romantic relationships, will seem shallow and contrived.

The truth is, I do have some basic goals that relate to my writing, to language and poetry.  It is my passion and the thing  -- after flying on pain induced endorphins -- that makes me feel most centered and most myself.  It’s the thing that is most me, outside of kink and poly relationships. I’m troubled though, because Sir and I recently talked about service, and about making my service something that mattered.  I am not sure that focusing on language and poetry benefits anyone but me.  That seems a bit selfish for service.  

 Honestly, things are just beginning to settle in one relationship after a very wonderful and very rocky roller-coaster of a year; and I am finally beginning to focus on the other. Strengthening my primary relationship is where most of my energy is going now.  In addition, life is full of work and moving and new additions to the family and -- well, life is always full.  But I spend a lot of time spinning my wheels when it comes to goals and accomplishing anything beyond relationships and discovering why I kink the way I do.

I realize I’m assuming that personal goals and service are connected.  It makes sense, but I have also been accused of over-thinking things.  


Often. 
And rightly so.  


I think maybe I’ve spent so much of the past three years fighting my way out of the cracked shell of my life -- testing my wings, flying, falling, trying again -- that I haven’t really thought much about anything beyond this.  That process of breaking out of my shell has been an emotionally and mentally taxing one. 

So, I ramble. 

But, coming back to the ink, the words, the language and writing and poetry --- I do have some goals, and they may seem small, or self-focused, or something.  And yes, I am most likely over-thinking, as I said.  One of my goals for 2012 is to finish twelve full length books, a mixture of fiction and non-fiction, just because I want to buy back some of the time I’ve not spent reading in the past several months.  I have lots of books going, and some I’ve finished, but many I’ve just made it through half or three-fourths and then gotten busy, and had to go back to them to begin again.  I want to line out a list of twelve good books and read them all before the end of the year.  For a writer, not reading stifles the flow of language and creative ideas.  I think it’s time to get back into the language stream.

The second thing I want to do involving language is to develop some sort of goal for poetry.  I’m considering a new poetry project each month, whether it’s something huge, like the sonnet corona, or something smaller, like the April poem-a-day challenge that I’ve done in the past. It usually results in a dozen or so good quality poems that can be organized into a chapbook.  I want a goal that actually means I’m producing poetry, instead of playing with it, but not finishing much.

Thirdly, I’ve been given a fourteen volume set of French erotica, and it’s being delivered this week.  I’m so excited, because I love the books themselves, and I can’t wait to see them on the shelf, but I also want to be able to read them, even though I currently don’t understand much French at all.  The goal is to dive into the language, translating poems and prose, and becoming familiar enough with the dynamics of it to incorporate it into the poetry I both read and write.  Beyond that, I want to also incorporate it into my prose and fiction, as well.  I’ve got a story going now that is set in St. Pierre at Carencro, Louisiana, and the bits of French I include give the storyline depth and texture.  I love that people who read either have to know a bit of French, or look up the words to get the full effect.  I enjoy reading works that challenge me a bit that way, and writing them pushes me to be more creative as well.  I want more of that.

I recently watched a YouTube video of a TED talk given by Sarah Kay.  She is an amazingly gifted spoken-word poet, and the things she shared moved me. She made me laugh, made me cry, and inspired me to do the thing that I’m most passionate about.  I truly believe this is why I was created -- words, ink, fiction and poetry, I am a writer, I am a poet.  It’s why I’m here.  I believe poets are compelled to see the world in moments, and to share those moments in words, to inspire people, to make them think, to shine a light on what it is to be human and alive.

 

This is my passion.  How does that translate into service?  I don’t know.  How does it make a difference to others?  I’m not sure.  But it is really what’s in my blood, and I know I’m not doing enough of it.  I don’t finish enough poems, or stories, I don’t post often enough on my blogs about my journey.  I don’t write like I used to, and I am busier than I was five years ago but this is important to me.  I need to find the time.  So, it’s where I’m going to begin. I’m going to set solid goals and work to accomplish them, because this is who I am, and what I need -- to swim in the language stream and spill large quantities of this  ink in my veins.

It’s what I’m made to do.

"Going to an intellectual place when dealing with emotional issues is like trying to do grocery shopping at an auto parts store."

-Michael Rios

This quote struck me squarely today.  I think I may write about it soon.

For now it's a scribble tossed in the drawer.

Lifting a Favorite Word from the Muck

Cunt.

It’s slang for vagina.

It begins with a hard-c. It rhymes with punt, stunt and front.

Use it lovingly, “that flower is opening up like a beautiful crimson cunt.”

Use it with edge, “that little fucking cunt just cut me off.”

Use it absurdly, “there’s a certain oaky cuntiness to this Merlot.”

Use it frequently.

And when someone balks or is morally offended, tell them it’s just a fucking word, lifted from a whore street in Old London and first used in print by James Joyce. Then gaze at them with judgmental disdain and tell them perhaps they’re the ones who need a morality check.

Cunts.

— Kurt Sutter, “A LITTLE BIT OF MY SEMANTIC THEORY OF SLURS AND HOW THAT RELATES TO MY AFFECTION FOR THE USE OF ‘SEE YOU AND TEA’”

Swimming in the Dark Ink

Primordium

"The whole of Le Cirque des Re'ves is formed by series of circles.  Perhaps it is a tribute to the origin of the word "circus," deriving from the Greek kirkos meaning circle, or ring.  There are many such nods to the phenomenon of the circus in a historical sense, though it is hardly a traditional circus.  Rather than a single tent with rings enclosed within, this circus contains clusters of tents like  pyramids, some large and others quite small.  They are set within circular paths, contained within a circular fence.  Looping and continuous.

-Friedrick Thiessen, 1892

A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.

- Oscar Wilde, 1888

(And so, Part I of The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern begins...)

----------

I am captivated by this book already.  It contains so many lines, so many singular words so much that strikes chords inside of me... individual chords that barely begin to vibrate, to quiver in anticipation of the inspiring words that will spill from my pen later.  Already I've been jotting those words and phrases into my notebook.  There is no music yet, but it is coming - these chords will keep trembling and eventually lend their voices to sweet harmonic inspiration -- and I can't wait to set it down in inky black words, lined up properly, one after another.  

It may be quite a fantastic tale.  It may lend itself to another essay about my own darkness, and how I am chasing it with glee; or perhaps it will weave itself into some dark poem that beats with a life and rhythm all it's own.  All I know is that for now, this reading -- this soaking up of the dark rich imagery and language -- is good for me. 

So very good for the ink in my veins.  

This I need.

And So It Begins

provenience
a sonnet corona by Ephemera

"All human actions have one or more of these seven causes: chance, nature, compulsion, habit, reason, passion and desire." 
-Aristotle

I. Chance

I'll entertain that chance may be the cause
for this encounter, with two eyes so blue.
Against such happenstance there are no laws;
though I might wish the opposite were true.

I find I'm staring, wondering at this hue.
It mirrors both the night sky and the sea.
It leaves me drunken, like a heady brew
and dulls my sense for witty repartee.

A moment's circumspection may be key
to aid a maiden choosing her next move.
If only in your gaze she could foresee
the way to her advantage quickly prove.

The longer here I gaze, I must surmise,
perhaps your nature lies behind disguise.

II. Nature

Perhaps your nature lies behind disguise.
The thought alone should beg a moment's pause.
I note at once, your chest it does not rise,
the way mine does with every breath it draws!

Here now, the doubt takes form. With teeth it gnaws.
Yet surely you must breathe as creatures do?
The hand of dread taps, taunts me with its claws --
until you speak, sweet words as if to woo...

"Oh lovely one, I beg you don't adieu!
Propriety would this dark one behoove
to honor beauty such as yours is due,
with entertainment!  Please, say you approve?"

Your two pale lips seduce me with their plea.
An old compulsion tempts me -- wait and see.

III. Compulsion

An old compulsion tempts me wait and see.
"Might I," you ask, "your patient smile renew?"
"Perhaps a bass-line might, to some degree
allay timorous thoughts and comfort you."

At your proposal, as if by your cue,
the pulses of blue melody surprise.
Both pleasure and diversion soon ensue.
I smile and tap my toes in compromise.

My doubts remain, continue to chastise,
admonish me, beware sly danger's jaws!
I placate fears, asserting I am wise,
though over-prudence is among my flaws.

An urgency now beats within this groove.
Should habit hint at danger, I'll remove.

IV. Habit

Should habit hint at danger, I'll remove.
In meantime, let me strategy devise.
A gambit wrapped in words should well improve
resistance to those looks that hypnotize.

I'll flirt and tempt with verse; I'll improvise.
will rhyme in stanzas two and maybe three.
Ah, there he smiles as pleasure fills his eyes!
I can't be blamed for marking victory.

My pulse sings high, my mouth tastes of chablis.
My fingers itch to offer quick applause.
I smile sweetly though; to boast would be
a damper on the atmosphere that was.

I'll counter with a smile, while blushing too.
Of course, clear reason should be kept in view.

V.  Reason

Of course, clear reason should be kept in view.
You speak of chances fleeting, perhaps we
the opportunity should not eschew,
to dance a while as music flows so free.

You take my hand and lead me 'neath a tree.
A gallant bow you swiftly improvise.
I blush and curtsy cannot disagree,
when tongue and gaze of yours both hypnotize.

Your arm goes round my waist, my heart it flies.
I take your hand, my feet begin to move.
The moon spills out her light from shadowed skies.
Familiar steps may well my dread disprove.

The music's soothing cloud settles like gauze.
In mutual passion, soon all doubt withdraws. 

VI.  Passion

In mutual passion, soon all doubt withdraws. 
In nearness of your form my protest dies.
I cannot think to question now because
the sense of you surrounds me to baptize.

I drop my guard and gaze into your eyes,
where blue on blueness begins to imbue
my senses with peculiar, breathless highs
and hope -- which reason later may still rue.

My heart it syncopates and echoes through
my breathless body, begging to break free.
I rest my head against your chest and sue
my pulse for its reckless absurdity.

I care not now for those who disapprove.
Desire may at long last my shy soul move.

VII. Desire

Desire may at long last my shy soul move.
I lean to catch your scent and close my eyes.
Descending guard does your advance improve.
You counter with embraces and deep sighs.

No matter how my weakened reason tries,
with every touch my flesh longs to agree
that we should lengthen this embrace that ties
me into such strong curiosity.

My vision blurred with lust, I cannot see.
You feint and kiss before you bite into
The vein that pulses in my throat, with glee.
And I can only yield to this milieu.

How did I find myself within your jaws?
I'll entertain that chance may be the cause.

-----

A crown of sonnets or sonnet corona is a sequence of sonnets, usually addressed to some one person, and/or concerned with a single theme.  Each of the sonnets explores one aspect of the theme, and is linked to the preceding and succeeding sonnets by repeating the final line of the preceding sonnet as its first line, and by having its final line be the first line of the succeeding sonnet.  With seven sonnets, the first line of the first sonnet is repeated as the final line of the final sonnet, thereby bringing the sequence to a close.

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A Poem I Found

The Quiet World - Jeffrey McDaniel

In an effort to get people to look
into each other's eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
I proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn't respond,
I know she's used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.

After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.

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