Rain Over a Dry Spell
Heavy as pebbles the rain did fall today, while I was sleeping and as long as a sword be drawn to a yielding party. Could it be that this sudden burst of rain did wildly wash away the balm of summer’s embers. With my sword drawn could have this writer’s block have yielded when the quickness of the rain did desist. This rain almost from nowhere and with confusing impulse did feel somewhat vivid. The rain’s ether I did breathe as droplets fell outside and with that new breath came new life.
A Real Autumn at Last
Autumn I feel has now ensued, the real Autumn that is but let’s hope that this washing away of all that was damnable of preceding days is true. The rain could have signified amongst other things the washing away of my writer’s block and the dawning of the next seven days of triple positive Biorhythm Cycles. I feel now despite the intense rain as a depiction that summer has finally brought along Autumn but not to one that I have known these past eighteen days, no.
Optimism would lead me to say that the withering of Autumn’s months will not kill the good within me but now it will deal on the bad. As this torrid weather has cleansed me and filled me with sweeter ether I believe that the withering has now turned to a contrastive belief. Instead of my poetry withering, my chances of work, my relationship with others and anything else damnable I consider the withering to now have turned a pole.
Now the withering comes of all those things, sending them with withering to damnation and bringing back the best of me in this Autumn. If this was an Autumn of the lost years damnation would literally ensue but as I have now moved on with the start of this year I have surely taken myself further from it.
Three Stages of Separation
There have been three stages of separation thus far. The first being September 16th 1997 that ended my relationship with Jewell until this present day and although my moving on had quashed most lust, fragments were still there within my thought. Then came the start of January 1999 where I had seen it as another step into the right direction, the final conclusion of the lost years.
Now, today dawns another step into that forbearance as this rain I feel has cleansed me and brought out a positive aspect to Autumn’s withering. Now my thoughts of Jewell will only see the Autumn showers and along with other bad traits, they will wither away. When Winter comes I would all but remember Jewell as winter will banish such thoughts.
Fifty Days and Other Sums
From one extreme to another I have taken this periodical adventure, from betrothed love to lust, from craving to abhorrence and from memorable memories to damnable poetry. In my heyday with Jewell I was known to be the romantic and see mathematical wizardry in everything we had done. For example, we started dating on February 1st (Easy enough), we went out with each other for fifty days which we talked for every day. There was a period of fifty days after our going out that we had broken up and not talked to each other and then after that, we began conversation.
September 16th 1998 was a date inscribed by my name ‘Sniper’ which is signified in my Blank Verse Poem ‘Dawn-Tinted Love’. Also, I have placed great significance on March 16th 1997 as the borderline between what I considered to be a dream (This dreamy state noted in ‘Thy apparition that these bulbs don’t see) and the falling of grace. This was the equidistant moment, where one extreme carried to another and the dream was finally put to rest.
From March 16th 1997 to September 16th 1998 was where the anarchy and the shadow of what once was had been sought. This indeed was the most viable part of the darkness in the lost years. Thus, in this one and a half years to the day, the start had seen an ending of grace and the ending had seen a beginning to a new grace.
Edmund Ironside Before Bed
Today like yesterday did see me waking up at a late time of the day but let me just note about my getting to sleep. The time was around 3:30 a.m. when I decided it was time to turn off the computer and still not too drowsy I decided to read some ‘Edmund Ironside’. However, instead of reading the actual play I read the commentary of all different aspects of English that was used through the play including something I commonly use in mine, alliteration.
When the time arrived to 5:00 a.m. I finally decided to put down the book and begin on my bid to get to sleep earlier. This to me was a good start to getting to sleep earlier but in the first ten minutes of having the light off, lying on the ground with my blanket and pillows I started to ponder of poetical thoughts in conjunction with what I had just learnt.
The thought of alliteration in my mind made me ask myself “Would a line sound digestible to the ear if it were all in alliteration and could I make it presentable”. Starting with the first letter of the alphabet it didn’t take me long to come up with the line ‘As an aging animal archaic aged’ and turning the light on I decided to write it down. Being in the nude and having my window open I tried to stay out of public glare incase anyone was looking as I wrote down my line.
Getting back to sleep I kept pondering about the line I had just written, trying to give it significance and as I found that significance, some more poetical lines came to mind. Reaching up again to turn on the light and trying to keep my body out of direct view from the peeping window I wrote down the other three lines and then once again put my restless body to sleep.
Pondering some more I couldn’t help but to think that it would have been a good idea to turn on the computer and write down these new lines of poetry before I forgot. Piecing together ideas in my head about what Sonnet I could attach these lines to I came up with a title and turning the light on once again I knew that the computer had to be turned on, it was evident. To pass this opportunity would have been a sin and as my computer was turned on I attached a couple of lines in loose format to the new Sonnet and began work from there.
Planning a Siege Sonnet
Vast was the choice of lines for my Sonnet but I chose the lines from my list of ten syllable lines and then created a detailed plan of how precise the Sonnet would make sense. In turn, I structured a plan that was situated at a siege. The person speaking the Sonnet was the Lord in control of the siege.
The King within the castle had won the land which in older days was known as England soil but the King (Let’s classify him French) attacked it. With the siege happening outside of the walls the common people inside the castle walls who were dominantly English had revolted against the French ruler. The siege was what they needed to unite and as well as the constant bombardment from outside of the walls the King was being defeated from within his heart.
The Lord of the siege speaks how the King within the castle that took away the Old England from all English was acting as a caged lion within his own fortification. With the rebellion inside and the attack from outside the King was in hiding and it was only a matter of time until he was defeated. The Sonnet speaks how he was cowardly and how the besieging party was boiling with the forbearance he was showing to give up. The whole Sonnet situated around this besieging Lord who speaks rather in a soliloquy before he actually walks into the castle to attack a falling King from his fallen grace.
A Work of Art Without a Class
The newest Sonnet which I have produced I believed to be a work of art when I produced it because it has so many noteworthy facets about it. To start, it is a very detailed story where it was well versed and planned out before it was placed together. There is much rhyming alliteration and plain alliteration about the whole Sonnet, there are puns and rhetorical language. From what I did read in the commentary part of ‘Eric Sams’ I did learn much about English Literature and I didn’t even have to take a class for it.
What I’ve always wanted was to learn the English language superbly. Things like alliteration, verse, meters in poetry, an archaic dictionary of learning, syllables, proverbs, metaphors and everything else that makes English interesting, understandable or comprehensive. This book had shed some light onto my interest in the English language that has always been there but until now it hasn’t been clear to me what was what. For example, I didn’t know what a proverb was, a syllable, simile and all that other rhetorical bullshit. Yet, I want to take a course in English, advanced English at that.
The creation of the Sonnet began at 5:00 a.m. and I didn’t get to finish it until 8:30 a.m. The next hour was seen for me as a time to eat, brush my teeth and at 9:30 a.m. I finally got myself some much needed sleep. Let me now include the newest Sonnet and then discerningly speak of it in later parts.
The Fallen King Sonnet
A chapter from disgraced kings fallen grace
What hath my eye seine that my heart could not,
England’s old t’ which I ought fair his son wist,
Roused varlets revolt thy wanton despot,
As what once was, now does not want what is,
Time, shall I not to thy wearing skin behave,
That I have brought on thy shoulders mine brunt,
And thou shalt beset the bloodier knave,
That all of England now chews on this runt,
Thy paws blunted, thy sharp wit devour none,
Thy hew feeble feared, thy youthful rage raged,
Staunch as these walls sieged thy brave face undone,
An anxious ailing animal arch-aged,
Forbearance makes yon blood prude and boils mine,
Relinquish and thou shalt only slave time,
The Poetry Bug Is Back
The poetry bug like I noted is back in my veins. This poem came to me last night and almost as instant as that rain erupted onto the hard floor today my poetical flair was back. Could the pounding rain be the omen I was speaking of, could it be the start of a contrasting Autumn of withering that I was expecting to put me further into the ground.
Right now it’s still too early to decide whether or not this Sonnet was a fluke on my behalf but I really doubt it. To date, I now have 25 publishable Sonnets, the rest are just Sonnets I have created that don’t cut it. When I reach 50 publishable Sonnets is when I will start doing something about my future as a poet, that will be the dawn of my celebration and recognition of what I am. The thought of alliteration, it did bring out the inspiration in me.
Another Sonnet in One Sitting
The threat of this poetical flair being a one of feeling has just been thrown out the window. Just while I was trying to write another paragraph from a note I had written before it turned out to be a couple of poetical lines and then some more and what do you know, another Sonnet. However, this Sonnet that just explains the withering of Autumn that I had just talked about does so in more detail.
The heading is so catchy and right for the cause also depicting Autumn having a bug that took two different bites out of Autumn thus far. The first bite was the finishing of Summer’s embers and the withering that came with it. That was the bad withering that made me lose my pride and faith in something better, example, a drought of poetry.
The second bite the bug took from Autumn began from early this morning and it came to light when the pounding rain came while I was waking up today. This new change as I breathed new fresh ether did bring better poetry and a better outlook on life. Now, the only withering that will come of Autumn is that of the bad points of it. The bad will now cease and diminish where the better will increase. Let me now to the second Sonnet, although this one is blank versed…
A Bug Gnaws Autumn Twice
Autumn’s bug twice gnaws with bad-good demise
Autumn did equal comparative hell,
To cough up some withering form of itself,
The lesser and foremost part do I say,
Has now itself contrived contrasting domain.
The one which is now contrasts blight belief,
Accursed it be that bad withering now sieves,
And my life does no more to accursed luck play,
But it does, as the rain sings and halts all vile day.
This rain, it brings change in its thunderous plunge,
That it sinks all of Autumn and its dreary past,
Forth this day it shall bring none but worthy upright,
That I need not, to fear not, this past will to die,
This cough that did wither and decay my pride,
Has o’erturned fortune and made Autumn shied,
Diary Of A Mad Chaos is a daily diary written from March 1996 until today, of which individual books and book series have been created, namely “The Lost Years” an exploration of young, entwined love, the “Wubao In China (猎艳奇缘)” book series which provides an extensive comparative analysis of the cultural differences between Eastern and Western societies, and the book titled “Foreigner (华人)” an exploration of race relations in Australia.
