Is it just a simple mistake of my mind that multiplies the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made and then whispers them to me over and over again causing anxiety and depression?
If I can’t get this small group of bad times to stop haunting me while I’m stuck on this far flung spinning rock, will I still have them to think over again and again while in heaven?
Was it a mistake spending time, analysing the mistakes of other people, mistakes I feel bad for just by being nearby.
A mistake if I’m not mistaken.
Mistakes are sometimes misunderstandings that were never meant to hurt anyone. Until they did hurt someone.
Mistakes can be lapses in judgement, moments you really should of second guessed. Or sometimes things you couldn’t have changed no matter what, but you still somehow feel responsible for.
Is it a mistake to leave the details of all of these mistakes unsaid? If they still trouble me after all this time, why would anyone else want to hear about them. Surely it’s best their pain doesn’t spread.
Was it a mistake to use poetry to talk about some of my mistakes, some of our mistakes? Without literally talking about any of them?
It’s a mistake to let your mistakes beat you. It’s a mistake to follow mistakes in circles until you become dizzy with the pain, it’s a mistake to leave all your mistakes written in ink, on loose paper, in torn up pieces, outside in the rain.
Here’s to that one mistake you don’t regret, one in a million perhaps. One bad idea that worked out for the best, some light to warm your heart while it continues beating in your chest.
Lets spare a thought for all the mistakes we’re glad we didn’t make. Focusing on the ones we did, is by far our worst mistake.
19 Aug 2014 / 0 notes
Since there’s a Brisbane heat of the National Poetry Slam this friday I decided to try and write something new that might be interesting enough to read there if I manage to arrive in time to sign up, here goes:
There’s a pathway I try to avoid walking down. It’s a leap my mind is able to make. What purpose this leap could ever serve is unknown to me. I’m talking about the way my brain is able to misinterpret the world as a result of schizophrenic illness.
It’s been over a year since my last major episode. However, a few subtle layers are still recognizable. It’s still there, just out of sight for the moment. The fact is, the intense episodes do eventually pass, and I have found medication that works. What is left is just a tiny glimmer of delusion on the edge of the edges I walk past.
Otherwise mundane details or complications send a stray thought on a mission for somewhat connected but ultimately useless memories. These memories barely survive the trip back. What’s left is an unusually and unnecessarily unpleasant state of mind. If I’m lucky it will simply pass soon after, sometimes though, it just continues to build.
I might spend a good thirty minutes convinced I’m a murderer, finally getting a grip upon realising no one has in fact been murdered. The whole time undecided on whether I should get out of bed or hit snooze on my alarm.
I’ve literally believed I was dead. ‘In purgatory’ between one ‘place’ and another, somewhere ‘in between’. This once lasted more than a week. I once thought people close to me were being replaced by some unknown shape shifting impostor.
The smaller stuff involves being distracted by the colour of everyday objects, or mis-hearing the conversations of strangers to almost always be saying disturbing things they most definatly would not really be saying.
Most people struggle with daily challenges within the parameters of the 10 percent of their brains active capacity. I feel like the other 90 percent is getting ready to free-fall into oblivion and painful noise if a single word, sound or colour happens to be today’s trigger. It takes extra energy to keep these unraveling pathways closed off.
And fuck you for not rhyming, poem. I’ve just started writing. I decide to write something personal and suddenly I can’t seem to do anything except speak unusual truth in the form of ordinary prose.
Why my thoughts make these leaps, I still don’t know. I have the unfortunate luck to have experienced impossible ideas first hand and somehow have the insight to speak freely about them afterwards. So at the very least, I’ll share a few words with you about it all.
30 Jul 2014 / 0 notes
I’m not actually lucid. It’s just a caffeine and sugar rush.
Pretty soon it will wear off. My brain will turn to mush.
I’m not actually funny. I’ve just had six or seven beers.
I’ll tell some made up stories and forget about my fears.
I’m not actually crazy. I just haven’t had much sleep.
You don’t have to leave a message after the satisfying beep.
I’m not actually worried, my mind just idles the wrong way.
A thousand dreadful thoughts, where they’re from I couldn’t say.
I’m not really that hungry, meals just items on a list.
Some people live to eat, I probably eat just to exist.
I haven’t got a minute, people really use that line?
Sixty seconds I could spare, after all, it’s only time.
I don’t get sick of a favourite song, till a new one takes it’s place.
Sometimes it just takes a day, other times the four-hundredth time it plays.
I guess I prefer to catch the airport train, since it’s often almost empty.
Just a few other traveling souls, bags packed, with somewhere far away to be.
Then I get off one station early, I can walk the rest of the way.
Clearing thoughts with each extra footstep, no need to do or to say.
29 Jul 2014 / 1 note
#thedirtythirty #day30 #goodbye
While I was deleting old files on my computer I stopped every now and then to read an old document, or glance at a photo of someone I haven’t seen in years.
After a moments pause I deleted each file, memories surfaced, but I dismissed each one. Goodbye.
There were quite a few files. I swear I’d already said goodbye to these memories, these thoughts. I might as well make sure. I search out anything that might have significance, I see faces of people who were once significant. No more. Goodbye.
I find a few files I can’t delete. They are not on my computer, they are just images, sights, sounds and thoughts in my head. Though sometimes it would be nice, I can’t say goodbye to everything.
29 Apr 2014 / 0 notes
#thedirtythirty #day29 #limerick #gameofthroneslimerick
There was a young king from kings landing.
No respect for those he’s commanding.
His wedding was quite fine.
Till they poisoned his wine.
The way that he died was outstanding.
28 Apr 2014 / 0 notes
#thedirtythirty #day28 #3togo
Shine, Safe, Blue
Sly blue sign
Choice of mine
Between one line
Why so blue?
Heart slow beating
Why so few
Then there’s you
Light and shade
Colour my love
Thought and change
Small blue spot
One blue dot
Is where I’ll stay
Right here on earth
By willpower or pill
Feet grasp the ground
It takes some skill
Keep sick at bay
Mind up in flames
But not today
28 Apr 2014 / 0 notes
#dirtythirtypoetrymonth#thedirtythirty #day27 #ifeveryonewas #bestreadwhilelisteningtopageonebylemonjelly
Imagine if you can, what it is like if there were no status updates at all. Nothing. Very few people are able to imagine such a thing, no status updates at all.
Now let us. You and I, try to imagine something one hundred times harder. Not just if there were no status updates at all, but if every status update for a month was a poem. The very beginning of the Poetry Month Apocalypse. Page one. nothing but poetry. The status updates themselves without form. A void. Only an emptiness. Formless. A dark endless waste of poetry.
No living thing no plant or tree no bird or animal.
This is before poetry, before anything at all.
a void, sitting silent, still.
*cue music to go crazy to express just how insane this moment would be*
If all 624 friends I follow on Facebook, all posted a poem every day. In groups, on the timeline, on tumblr, just generally in everyones way.
If everyone, I mean literally everyone. Each day in April was writing a poem. There would be nothing to see but the poetry, Facebooks algorithms would end up broken.
Not just my friends or your friends, everyone. Every soul who has uttered a word. The poems would be so large in number, to read them would just be absurd.
I’m not suggesting it should happen, but lets imagine if it did. The world engulfed in poetry, like a massive spoken-word squid.
If it happened, it would be, a poetry big bang. Our words reaching for the stars in a frantic sprawl of slang.
For now I’m happy with just a couple of my friends here joining in. Keeping up with all the reading, fitting my own posts in.
It’s been a massive month for writing, but I don’t think the world would cope. If every one of us did this all month, it would be a little out of scope.
I invite a few more to join me, next year around this time. Though lets not get too excited, only some of us should rhyme.
*This poem best enjoyed in the context of the following brilliant track by lemon jelly: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pn9X0u7xYtg&feature=kp
26 Apr 2014 / 0 notes
#thedirtythirty #day26 #magic
Well practiced slight of hand made up at least half of the show. The rest made up of secrets only the magician knows.
The reason I watched the show is there’s no better feeling than being fooled. Bamboozled, confounded, mystified and even schooled.
A lifetime of misdirection, onlookers baffled never sure. He’s always practicing and inventing things they’d never seen before.
One of his secrets was the reason he grew up to be a magician. When he was younger, bullies left him in a rather bad condition.
No one ever did again. He became far too fast to catch. Disappearing, reappearing escaping from peril without a scratch.
His journey a response to those early schoolyard rivals. Creativity can flourish as a method of survival.
So this magic, we’re enjoying, has been crafted out of pain. No one knew this, while he fooled us all again and again.
Some magic has no reason, it’s just magic on its own. It’s not inside your wallet and it’s not there on your phone.
Spending time with friends and loved ones, staying up a little late. Forgetting past misfortunes and not knowing what awaits.
Find wisdom in your struggles but also let them go. There’s more to life than lessons, relax and let it show.
26 Apr 2014 / 0 notes
#thedirtythirty #day25 #money #secondperson
(If you had a fortune)
You would spend almost nothing (If you had a fortune) on heaps of pointless little things that you hoped were not forgotten.
At first that’s what you’d do, then you’d have to get creative.
Spending big and spending wide and spendings rising like the tide.
If you had a fortune, you’d spend it on endorphins, you don’t remember what they are but hey isn’t science awesome?
You’d give away all your money, then they’d give some of it back. you’d put it into envelopes, with instructions on the back.
You’d eat a few new meals you’d not yet learned to cook. You’d travel f____ing everywhere, just to take a look.
If you had a fortune, not money, if you had.
If you had an awesome mother, and at least an alright Dad. If you had even one sibling, if you had a rockin friend. If you had these you’d hit fwd, you’d hit reply, and you’d hit send.
You have a fortune all around you, money works along the way, but no amount of money understands what I’m trying to say.
If you had a fortune, it wouldn’t change a thing. Throw some change below a stranger and listen to her sing.
24 Apr 2014 / 0 notes
#thedirtythirty #day24 #freewrite #limerick #billmurraypoem #billmurraypoetryslam
There was a fine man named Bill Murray
He once stole a fans bowl of curry
They’ll never believe you
Rides his own kangaroo
He’ll be at the slam don’t you worry
24 Apr 2014 / 0 notes