BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,

sucks, eh?

Man ... I don't know which I hate more, not being able to find time to write, or making time to write and then getting no "flow". The past week's been a lot of the former and today was a chunk of the latter. Writing today was like transcribing Blavatsky ... we have permission to use excerpts from the "missing" 3rd volume of The Secret Doctrine (on Occultism) for our quarterly, The Terminal Journal, and this is our "last resort" if we really don't have anything in the "slush pile". However, most of the stuff that I'd want to use from this involves typesetting both Greek and Hebrew. Being as I am only vaguely familiar with these languages (I can't read or speak either, but I do know many of the letters), it involves a long and involved process of transferring words (not wanting to look stupid for making an "obvious" mistake) in these to the new format ... usually meaning looking up each individual letter, finding it's value in a font, and then putting it in the new document ... well ... this was one of the poems that felt like that ... having to drag every line out of the void and fix it on the page. Ack.

                    DARKLY DRIFTING DOWN, AGAIN

                    deep delays
                    long ellipses
                    strung far out
                    into histories
                    time gone

                    contexts shifting
                    elements of plan
                    in unplanned frames
                    fortuitous unveilings
                    trace out webs
                    convoluted vectors
                    which grip the day
                    and those that follow

                    no forward
                    no clearing
                    the mists are thick
                    the grey impenetrable
                    we take these steps
                    without sure faith
                    trusting somehow
                    in their inertia

                    the physical
                    begins to fail
                    systems falter
                    form decays
                    our intentions
                    no longer matter
                    we lose control
                    of moments' flow

                    we are so lost
                    immersed in fatigue
                    our efforts drift
                    our focus wanes
                    our will no longer
                    carries through
                    creating action
                    from sputtering fire

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2001 by Brendan Tripp

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