So my poetry is having an identity crisis. It has holed itself in its room in my pen and refuses to come out. It says is has no purpose in life. That it feels useless, and stuck. It says that it realized recently that it’s just been repeating itself over and over again for a while, and feels a bit mortified. So it decided to hole itself up and not come out again until…well, neither of us really know until what, which is a problem. It recently had a teary fit, in its pen, over this. Ink splotts came flying out all over my fingers and the page as it cried over its seasonal depression that’s come on. I think, personally, that it over worked itself. We embarked, in November, on the 30 poems in 30 days adventure and I think that was a bit much for it. Towards the end, it was babbling incoherently, rocking back and forth out of the pen. The paper just did not know how to handle this, so it didn’t intervene.
We here in Rocketland have tried everything. We tried ignoring it and letting it do its thing. We tried standing outside its room singing Beatles songs like in that movie. We even tried whispering uplifting Oprah quotes into the crack in the door when we thought it was sleeping, hoping for some kind of subliminal message thing. Nothing. It’s sad, but we’re not giving up. No sir.
In other news, there’s the slight possibility that I might actually figure out the whole wordpress coding/dreamweaver/mamp (for anyone who knows this stuff) technical side of wordpress theme building, and eventually move this party over to my own little domain. I’ll keep you updated.