Time has told me

And so another day closes in. Did anyone notice how fast the clouds were moving around like 7:00? It was strange, but the moon was gorgeous as I strolled back to my dorm. Everyday when I go back to my dorm I feel tired as if I had to take another step would be the hardest thing. The first thing I do is rip off all my..... jewelery, get your mind out of the gutter haha--I can't stand it for some reason, even my beloved ring. Then I dive into bed and catch up on the news. Tonight I'm not doing homework my brain is exhausted. I'm going through this phase where I'm getting sharp shooting pains in my parietal and temporal lobes. Its quite alarming, but of course all things medical I push aside. Perhaps I could appear on House. Get me some Gregory House please.

I'm not sure if you want to know this but I'm sure it'll entertain. Okay so lately for some reason, mostly winter I'm assuming I've been feeling down, sort of lonely and lost and don't know where my place is in the world. Its sort of silly and insignificant to view things the way I do sometimes--as a cosmic whole, good or bad, great or trivial. I'm working on changing that. I also contacted someone about maybe seeing if I do need help to get over some things, that I just can't put away or leave behind. The person said the first step of progress that I was reaching out. Because usually I just put on the laughs and go on with life. But there is always a part of me I put on hold waiting for it to sort out. So in the past three days I have gone from worse to much better with the help of seeking help and prayer. Though I am having great conflict with biblical things, I certainly believe there is a God somewhere in the cosmos laughing at all the crazy shit I do. Like when...Today I was with Mary at lunch. I was clearing my glass and what do you know, I left something on the table. Not just anything mind you--my laptop. We laughed, and the day spun madly on.

Its so ironic. Today I was in a mental health office. But not for an appointment. So close, I know what you're thinking. It was for an interview with a M.S. who won a poetry award. Of course me wanting to develop a poetry reporting beat would want to cover this. It felt weird to be somewhere that I might very well need to be, but not for the same reason. I sat there in his office, chit chatting about Dana Gioa, James Tate, Pablo Neruda, Sylvia Plath and Whitman and I found that maybe you can't be healed by anything else but yourself and creativity. For today, that is the conclusion I have come up with.

Poets are like delicate souls that can get lost in life, lost in the words sometimes never appearing but on the pages.

The man I interviewed was easy to talk to and very intelligent. I asked him, "The title of your newest work--its very creative, how did you form the title?" He replied, "I don't know I took half of it from a poem in the story, and the other words just followed. Like poetry, you never know what is on the page until after you write it."

So true.

I'm taking a poetry class this semester. The teacher who I talked of last post, is great. But she is teaching us the constraints on poetry the if ands or buts, the abab cdcd pattern to follow. The man who won recently this very prestigious award described he never had any formal training in poetry--and I told him, nicely, and look where it got you (laughing). I explained that in a way learning the science of language can sometimes ruin it. It can suppress any creative flickering you had throughout the day by assigning it a pattern or a rhyme or a syllabic science. Don't rhyme your poems people. But what do I know, I'm just some 20-year-old punk with an affinity for wry poetry and lack of care for much else.

And since I am a great observer of the cosmos, I can truthfully say soon we will all be close to the sun, when the weather isn't -11. Perhaps by that time I will be able to report back to you that I feel put back together again.

In the mean time, stay classy ;)