2021-05-25

takethisforexample: (Default)
2021-05-25 09:26 am
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An Anecdote

I have not been too keen on writing recently. Jatin described my writing as "flowery", and now looking through it again, I feel some sort of shame for not noticing it sooner. There is only one thing left to do- indulge in anything else and see what can come from it. Writing is formulaic. The more time I spend away from it, the better it becomes when I finally return.

Recently I've been pursuing my other interests. Fishing, with no luck at all, but fishing nonetheless. I spent four hours in Ringwood just last week casting in the shallow sunny-pools and listening to Kenny Wayne Shephard. Just being out of the house is a blessing at this point. The grass in Ringwood is too tall and thick though- I pulled a pretty large tick off myself at work the next day, and now I'm on antibiotics.

In other news, I failed my biology class and I have not graduated from high school. I am taking a 5 week public speaking course which will somehow allow me to walk at graduation. Public speaking is my forte and I am confident I will do well. My coworker told me that it doesn't seem typical of a writer to be able to speak the way I do. Honestly, I never really thought about it.

I will try to come here more often. I need the space to vent. If I'm not lying, things have been pretty lonely. Almost everyone in my life is a footnote at best. I've been finding more comfort in solitude like some sort of recluse, but I would not like to keep it that way.
takethisforexample: (Default)
2021-05-25 11:23 am
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For My Daughter by Weldon Kees

Looking into my daughter’s eyes I read
Beneath the innocence of morning flesh
Concealed, hintings of death she does not heed.
Coldest of winds have blown this hair, and mesh
Of seaweed snarled these miniatures of hands;
The night’s slow poison, tolerant and bland,
Has moved her blood. Parched years that I have seen
That may be hers appear: foul, lingering
Death in certain war, the slim legs green.
Or, fed on hate, she relishes the sting
Of others’ agony; perhaps the cruel
Bride of a syphilitic or a fool.
These speculations sour in the sun.
I have no daughter. I desire none.