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
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
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.
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
that the applause
is ment for Me
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 (!)
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