PAUL SELING

Back in 2009 I had already experimented with blogging, or the idea of writing without actually caring too much about form, finality, closed structures, or…”epic chains”. A certain feeling for „writing” as a form of „performance” ( more or less for my own amusement ) became somesort of a personal type of entertainment. ( think of actually trying to generate surprise by provoquing yourself to all kinds of tasks ). So the hard and difficult task of writing something that resembled „poetry” or „white verses” became the next challenge. This time the challenge was to write verses and ideas on the fly, convinced by previous experiences in front of a laptop ( a grey one ! ) that things will close themselves up in an elegant manner.

So they did. All of those short „poems” are written in more or less 15-20 seconds.Another try at extracting sense and ideas from the superficial level of the subconscious mind.

( In fact this short experiment on…my self…was supposed to tell me if there is a certain type of control in/on this superficial layer, from where all those „conventional” issues / notions were „extracted”, or actually, more or less ,put to work.I think that in the „immediate” layer, right before „acting” there is a buffer of a certain type of conventional notions / beliefs / that are also somehow veryfying, one more time before physical action, a certain integrity of the mind, maybe just before the body is put to action / motion.

A „light” way to verify these personal beliefs was to actually sit comfortably in a chair and „act” in a minimal manner, like writing. So the purpose of „writing” was actually the final purpose , while the question remained, can this „writing” be ended in a more or less conventional form ( that of a conpleted …let`s say, „poem” ) ? Of course I was not actually paying any attention to the idea of extremely immaginative writing, trying to more or less understand if the instinct can act like a catalyst for a…let`s say, a conclusive manner of ending an epic structure. Of course I had the idea that the „instinct” is again, some form of a cohercitive force that is also tied to the finality of any type of „work” ,and that it cannot be actually tricked into acting alone, separately, but is always connected to lots of other determinations/determinants , maybe even the actual content / texture of such construction/poem. So one thing became clear, that the actual „quality” of the writing process is triggering a certain type of „closure”, and again, I could prove to myself that the epic length, dynamix, colour, texture of a chain of events is always determinant but also determined by its designed finality.

Is the „finality” of a creative process, or the designed purpose of it „productive” in some ways, or is it purely experimental and free of such constraints, it is never actually clear in my mind.It might be a mix of the two. In this case the purpose was so „local” in time and space, that it could maybe capture something of what is called the „super-ego”`s…flavour…if that „thing” actually….exists

………

I`m forced to express my self out loud

By whispering. My silence is not enough.

I must now raise my voice to the level of

brutal chit chat.

 

 

Let`s talk, say nothing

two different noises who add up

White, pink, grey, who cares about the colour ?

As long as this  static keeps us contained.

 

 

In our bubble of self content

Beautiful phrases drift only to break apart 

Into simple and meaningless words.

I`ve got quite a collection now.

 

 

Don`t go there,

Don`t go into the void

Don`t go into that place

Where silence becomes talk.

 

…………..

 

 

Mesmerised, every day

By the endless possibilities 

We didn`t take.

Stubborn and dumb.

We kept walking this narrow path.

Of  absurd and senseless movement

 

 

In the mist of all promisses

I find myself without a clue

There is no beginning and no end

No black and no white.

No powerfull and no weak

 

 

No me and no you

Just a series of puppets.

mathematically moving on well known orbits

My words

Are

Though

Here.

 

 

……….

 

 

I`m not looking back

In the world of undo I learn to respect my mistakes

And love my blue-screen errors.

 

 

there is no failure, just a restart now and then

You are just one of my single-serving friends.

I might be  a hero from your childhood dreams

But who cares?

 

 

In the world of undo

there is no looking back

Brownian movement in the shadows of grey

Moving back is just another way

of moving forwards.

 

 

In the world of undo.

You recite  poems about your loved ones

While I`m staring at myself in the mirror

Wishing that somehow time stays still

 

 

In the world of undo,

I`m under the impression

I am free.

 

 

 

………..

 

 

Not much left in the city for us

A bunch of concrete blocks

Lots of dust

And a bicycle now and there.

U came and corrected me.

I was drifting terribly on my own ways.

Now we walk alone, side by side.

The world`s perfect now.

You and me, me and you.

Perfect mirror reflections

 

 

………..

 

 

More than once

you told me not to write

things down

the corrupt memory of our thougts

was so much better to chew on

 

 

bitter sweet nostalgia

instead of some real anger…

we lied to ourselves( accomplices )

and started to grow older.

 

 

…………

 

 

Curious people

not minding their own business

often come to see my moves

like cats attracted by a jumping ball

we are together in this one

I might be more curious

about your curiosity

then you are

about my show.

 

 

 

………….

 

 

My theatre show is on wheels

I am all the circus crew

the animals and the whip too

and still I manage to lie to myself

everytime

that the applause

is ment for Me

alone

……………..

Real questions attached to this small „experiment” :

1) What is, in fact, poetry, in relation to „productive” purposes ? I personally thought that such a state, a state where modified „logic”, metaphore, in fact, the distorsion/bending in more or less radical ways of grammar and phrasing and so many other „actions”, that are being taken …. against language, with its „usual typologies „, or „normal structures of language, phrases, logic, etc” is at least „deconstructive”.

Of course there is a lot of … poetry … „lying around”, poetry that is more or less adherent to the general clichees representing it in the collective mind. I guess first of all poetry remains either an experimental field, at least on language and its symbolix, or just another unusual remix of „popular conventions” that are either collected and recollected by the conventional collective mind.Or, of course, it might be a mix of the two.

One can always say that poetry might be somesort of a personal essay on all of these issues, and it should not be discussed or challenged in any way from external points of VU. But again, poetry seems to always need to catch a public`s attention, maybe beyond any of its… „productive” potential ( it might also be that the „value” of such artifacts are perceived differently in different societies, I mean from capitalism to socialism and anywhere … in between ).

2 ) the relations between the potential public and the „poet / creative ” are obviously of a variety of types. I still think that the „experimentalists” on language are being perceived „lightly” by the general public, mostly because „language” seems to be, after all,….everyone`s common ground (!)