Repeating Phrases All the Way Home (Part 1) – Mad Chaos: March 3, 1999

Five Points on the Walk Home

For the last two hours that I had left for Campbelltown and then come back I have had a thought constantly in my mind. This one thought expanded to another and then another and because I didn’t have a pen or paper handy I had to keep repeating phrases that I would easily remember. The trek home was constant repeating of those words so that I wouldn’t forget them when I came home and it paid off, I didn’t forget. See if you can find five points of topic in what I was saying all the way home without fail and then read on to find out if you were right. My phrase coming home although fairly long was “English is an applicable language, two liters of Spring water, touch-television”.

English Is Too Easy

English is such an applicable language. By this I mean that English in its modern sense is so solvent that it is made so basic to understand. Other languages although without as much an enormity in words as English are much better languages and also harder but in an easier sense. English has been globalized since it became the number one language in the world and because of this words were made and joined with other languages to make more sense. A language that has been made so effortless is effortless to say the least for a poetical tongue.

Such simplistic ode can in many ways work and English has the temperament of having such a broad spectrum of words that explain but a foreign language that has not developed such simplicity is far better in poetry’s defense. Thus, for this reason I do not write in natural modern English when I write my Sonnets but rather in Old English. Speaking with nature and being one with nature in my Sonnets, Old English itself was poetically bound and as it lacked many words that today’s society deems ‘Easy Language’ I find it to be like any other foreign language to the tongue. Old English is my forte and to speak so simply in my poems as modern English permits, that I will not allow.

Old English and Macedonian

Old English is one foreign language to this modern language that I have been using in poetry but lately I have also began my journey into the Macedonian Language and linked it also with poetry. Yugoslavian may not sound all to flattering by the tongue but if you were to be Yugoslavian and hear it, you would be flattered.

Today before leaving for Campbelltown I brought mum downstairs and read her the poem for her insight. There would be two or three lines where she would laugh with awe at the crystallization of words that I had used and when the poem was over she did like it very much. Macedonian is another forte of mine that once again does not explain word by word like modern English would tend to do in poetry but it makes one think, just like that of Old English.

Making my way to Campbelltown today and also on the way back I thought what a great idea it would be to learn a new language and knowing that I would want it to sound romantic to the ear as well as to the heart, I chose French. Thus, this is my next goal of the future, to learn French (Preferably the older French tongue) and speak Sonnets with it.

My Kingdom for a Laptop

My Kingdom for a laptop computer, oh what I would give for this freedom’s necessity. On the phone with Lyssa last night I told her about a portable laptop computer for under $500 at a computer sale in Campbelltown. Jokingly asking her to buy it for me she actually considered paying half if I was serious about it.

This brought back remembrance of when my brother paid for half of my Amiga 500 because I struck the same deal with him. He didn’t think I was being serious but I worked my butt off delivering pamphlets and burning them and sticking to his word, he lent me half the money. This time I wasn’t too eager on Lyssa’s generosity because I knew that if I did put in on lay-by like she said I wouldn’t be able to pay anything off on it considering my current money problem.

But how easy would a portable laptop computer make my life of poetry. Walking to Campbelltown I wouldn’t have had to remember that stupid line. Rather, I could have just turned on my computer, sat down somewhere for five minutes and wrote out my whole thought only to transfer to my home computer later. There could be times where I could go to some place in a park with my laptop computer and just sit down to write poetry in a new surrounding. Such inspiration I would get from being outdoors and having the ability to write my thoughts without using the slow pen or the eraser. Poetry would be better off as I would have a thesaurus in the computer, a dictionary within it, everything, nothing will be amiss.

Autumn That Feels Like Spring

The juice is once again starting to flow in my poetry and those ten syllable lines that were drying up, they are now starting to slowly broaden. I foresee that my poetry will once again rise this month to a blossoming degree and that leads me to speak of my next point.

Today while coming back from Campbelltown and being out in the sun that made me sweat lightly, I realized a difference. Autumn has just started and in Old English that is associated with the dying cycle of a year. Where leaves fall off trees and all prepares for the cold and dead winter. Today while out it struck me that the surroundings felt to me like that of Spring. The birds weren’t chirping fluently and the sun didn’t have spring’s taste but it didn’t feel like Autumn yet. Maybe this is because Summer has just passed and I’m still feeling the effects of that but this would make sense with the branding of this months name, autumn, with summer’s embers burning still.

My Hands and My Mind

My hands are the center of my somatic existence. My musing is the center of my emotional existence, that of my creativeness. One without the other cannot be me and I would be nothing without either. If I were to lose my hands in an injury I would rather be dead as my hands are the machine for my mind. If I were to have a seizure and lose my concentration and thought, I would rather also be dead as poetry would never be flowing from me henceforth.

I use my hands for so many things. I use them to draw, to write letters, to type on the keyboard, to use my camera, to play the piano and to lift weights. That which I do not use my hands I use my creativeness and one cannot be without the other. In music, in poetry, in painting and in photography one must be creative, that certainly is me.

I would wane to death if my hands were to die,

And to death would I if I lost all my mind,

For they bound together shall separate none,

They shall work and conspire and have our day won,

That poem was brought once again from nowhere. Actually, I would rather think it was my creative mind working on a subconscious level and after two lines I realized a poem was evident and thus I finished it off. Basically I just repeat what my last paragraph was saying. Besides that I must bring forth my next point.

Mum’s Cordial Maths

Mum buys me four plastic bottles of two liter cordial for a fortnight’s worth. Now simple calculations would tell you that one liter would make four liters of cordial with water added and considering there are eight liters that’s 32 liters a fortnight. Break that down daily and I would be drinking just over two liters a day of cordial, that’s plenty.

Tracing Where Inspiration Came From

Now quickly onto my last two points, I was just thinking on the way home how one could find out my sources of inspiration through life’s chronology. By this I mean, if you thought that a line in my poetry was inspired by something else (Say television) you would have somewhere to start to obtain that knowledge. There have been occasions where one or two lines have been inspired by what I was watching on television or what book I had been reading at the time. Therefore, you would obviously be looking for the evidence before the time it was written and usually it would be hours before.

So, if it were to be on television and it was five years ago (Granting that the television station still had an idea of what was playing at that time) you would be able to attain information of what was playing on television in that span, watch the shows and draw your own conclusions. This I decided to bring to light as I thought this would one day be a great tool for trying to put yourself (Or myself for that matter) in my shoes, to see what led to my inspiration at the time, to live my life over again as if déjà vu had set in.

The Leaf Plucker

The last thought in my mind was conjured when almost home from Campbelltown today. There was a guy plucking a leaf from a tree as he passed it and I recalled this being me at one stage. Why does one feel the need to strip a tree of a leaf whenever he passes close by it. What is the subliminal pleasure in this, does one not discard it thereafter.

Seeing this act made me think how insects carried pollen around from plant to plant without even being aware of it and in a way, he was those insects. Taking a leaf and disposing of it up the street in another patch of green. If it were seeds from a tree he would have been like animals who eat seeds and then excrete them afterwards in a distant place.

The excretion makes for good fertilizer to let the plant mature and grow and although mankind doesn’t go to that extreme, we are in a way distributing life as animals and insects do. With our hand we do tear away the shrines of plant life and in their favor we do discard them to a chance of life elsewhere. We are not so bad, yet we don’t even know it.

Lyssa Needs My Computer

Now Lyssa is coming over tonight as she wants to use my computer to practice for her test at College this week. She’s bringing over some practice text and hopefully she’s going to dig into it but this means that I can’t get into my Diary entry now. Let me just note that I am starting to feel the poetry in my veins once again, slowly building up to a greater degree until finally it will unleash a huge tornado of poetry this month, let us count on it.