Lost and Won

I don't write verse anymore. It's been almost a year now that I wrote something the way I used to. I never rhymed, so that 'freedom' prevails. but i don't scribble anymore... that haunts me.

i don't do a whole lot of things: carry scrap books, kiss in public, drink obscene amounts of papaya juice, stare, smell, just sit (for god's sake), gorge on strawberries, watch movies for 12 hours straight without eating, or save animals from plight, cuddle them. i don't bring home sparrows, kittens, dogs, donkeys, calf, butterflies anymore. i haven't laughed like a lunatic in years, haven't cried over a book so bad (after 'like water for chocolate') that my mom thought i needed help. i haven't argued over something i believed in after Iser.

i had come to understand that the best part of literature was not in poetry or drama or autobiography; it was in literary criticism, in theories about reading and writing. They were like philosophies that applied to physics, economy, math, life, history, fashion, literature... theories that moved u into becoming you. That inspired and impressed it's emblem onto your soul.

Poetry is moving and heavily despotic; pain of sorts stirs every writer. And that melancholy in turn becomes you,"when u play the game long enough, the game takes over and plays you". if u disagree, pick up all the 'movers' in this world, see how they lived and died.

I know i will not end that way. i am not Achilles, who will barter all the happiness in this world for fictional immortality.

N. asked me once why i took lit? I told her coz i wanted to read. honestly I wanted to discover myself by moving into a cocoon of escapism, into the phantasmagoria of burnished realities, of unconnected myths: and find truth between sepia cast, moth smelling pages.

I found my truth in critical theories, clean pages and archetypal mythologies. I found them in multiple forms, in deconstructed syntax and when i embraced them I lost the art of grafting----

grafting Silvya's, Blake's, Wolf's, Albee's, Pinter's, Eliot's emotions with mine.

This gradual disassociation was unconscious; in the process i ended up choosing happiness over everything brutal. Who needs complex reality anyway, when you can create a universe of your own?