OK, so would it surprise anybody that I'm "not a happy camper" today? No ... of course not ... and, realistically, is there anybody (aside from my daughters) that the fact of me being miserable has any effect on? Probably not. So ... why should I even bother reporting it here? Ah, I guess that leads back into the "what purpose does an on-line journal serve" debate. Bleh. Aside from all the on-going SHIT that is my life these days, I can find two "triggers" for why I'm feeling like shit ... one is that The Wife is all hopped up to have "a family meeting" today ... while this purports to be for getting everybody "on the same page" in preparation for the big changes next month (my starting school and her starting a new job), there is never any good that comes out of these sorts of things ... they are always going to be stress-fests. Secondly, on a mailing list I'm on for metaphysical writers and publishers I answered a question about the current state of Eschaton with an extensive over-view of the struggles we've been having, both corporately and for me personally ... so far I got one response to that ... which leaves me in that "why the fuck do I even bother" state of feeling like I could set my hair on fire and still be totally ignored by 99% of the people around me. Double bleh.
Anyway, got another poem ground out yesterday. This one (fairly obviously) didn't quite ever fall into synch, the words and the source states never got together the way I'd like ... but if I'm going to be writing a LOT, I guess I need to cut myself some slack for ones that go "thud". By the way ... I uploaded the past couple of week's worth up on the archive site ... http://i.am/btripp ... last night, so you can go read some better stuff there.
VECTORS OF DESCENT
translated absence in structures of pain unwilling aspect held to the wheel drowning in chaos smothered by time unable to function unfit for desire
through this grey uncertain haze we spiral down drawn by gravities and uncharted planes no way to measure no way to gauge these vectors of descent
so much known in so many frames but none that synch with the mundane world which values naught of all we are and all the things we hold inside
we drift towards escape on the only free route the one leading deeper towards the core, further from their world; and in that drift we grow stranger and more estranged
the pattern imposed upon these days demands new functions and unfamiliar states we can not know how this plays out how these shifts rearrange or destroy