Ivanhoe

These plum laced mornings are our talent now..
and the photo Andrew, whoa...

AN: I don’t know ♥️

Because you are so fucking talented I want to touch you every time I read you...  I want to heal you, and let you heal me..., your words melt me to some base raw state every time I read them. And I love that feeling then, even when it hurts some....

Xthank you...firstly i changed talents to talent. prefer what you wrote.

secondly am so not that things but it makes me happy that it touches you.

Hope you are doing ok.
x

I get the sense that the herringbone refers to a sort of scale mail armor. I see feathered helmets and colorful crests. There is appreciation, but also disapproval. This almost feels as though there is ostracization for not sharing the same political views. Providing game for your family is not enough; you need slaughter the enemy on behalf of the tribe, clan, or "house".

Thank so much Johnny...I am sorry that I am nor replying or commenting as much as I should do.

Your reaction and response is amazing . I so appreciate your read of this...it was meant to be open to interpretation though I had a certain visual/experience in mind.

Thank you for responding and letting me know your thoughts...so appreciated.

You're welcome, nomoth. I was just letting my process of association go wild after I saw your note disclaimer!

There are certain qualities to sentience that I greatly admire. Choice, an object in motion tends to stay in motion. An object at rest tends to stay at rest. The sentient is, by nature of it's sentience, not an object. The sentient at rest may choose motion, and vice versa. Choice is something we ought not to neglect.

Change and adaptation. My personal writing philosophy has dimensions and nuances but one facet is, ABC, Always Be Changing. I'll write something nostalgic, something with a darker edge, something with an erotic motion, something more vulnerable.

My cousin is a magician. He taught me how magic tricks work. You lose the observer in fluid transitions. This is something I evolved my writing into, with continuous oscillations of diatribe, milieu and haptics, I invite the reader to lose themselves in 3 revolving dimensions.

So, all this bloviating had purpose. Your last write had a heart rending sense of childhood wonder to it. This one has a different music about it, to me. There is loss, a perspective of time like dark shadows glimpsed through a doorway, like the after image behind closed eyes, something hard and impenetrable and tragic in it's inability to connect, that resonates with me of my own life experiences and my own demeanor. Intimacy, to me, is to give of my heart truth. Moments of deeper intimacy in my life were fleeting, I often speak of the same moments in different lights, in my writing. It is offensive to me when others seek deeper connections to me than those I readily offer. Such things must always be on my terms. I wonder if this is something we share.

The highest compliment I can offer to art is that it makes me feel and think, that it touches me personally. This is the compliment I offer to you, my friend.

Sorry for not replying sooner. You lead me onto a train of thought that still yet has not arrived at any  conclusion. Your amazingly provocative statement/comment had tied into a David Lynch interview I had just read about intuition. The idea of constant movement and change yes, for any kind of growth of understanding, for perspective and I wonder if we are not moving around the same thing every time.

This mass of intuition , which Lynch says, lays on such a high level,  can becomes  an insanely difficult thing to place into words, particularly in what that intuition is saying to you. We revolve and orbit to find a different or clearer view of its meaning....but it still remains the same 'massive' world we are peering into.  

If there is anything that I try to express is that I hope a part of that intuitive meaning 'floats' within the words...why I think abstraction and metaphor have a better chance of describing an indescribable feeling of that meaning. I am not saying I am succeeding but I am trying.  

Intimacy is crucial and we have to ask with what are we being truly intimate with, I really don't know. For me it becomes stupidly messy so often - but there are so many nuggets to pick up out of the detritus...and we move on to another view.

to be continued I hope...

Thanks so much Daniel.

Hm. What are we truly being intimate with. I've been telling people about this so it might be a reiteration. but there's this Showtime series called I'm Dying Up Here, about struggling stage comics. One character says, the truly great comics aren't talking to the audience, they're talking to their ghosts. I found that very relevant to being a writer.

There are people who write for every reason and from every angle, some who enjoy the personification of the meaning of words, some who look at words in a narrow, technical light, all about grammar, punctuation, some who assert ego separation through the intellectually declarative, but I think the deepest writing comes from the other end of the spectrum, where words personify the movement of heart and spirit and, through that shared beingness, reveal our oneness. When I read Uma, it's like glorious dawnings and settings of spirit, eclipsing the spirit of the observer.

I take daily walks, sometimes at night and, I often look at the sky and I whisper to myself, Look at that. And am conflicted between the sheer awe of bearing witness and the inability to capture what  I am seeing in any meaningful way. So I guess weaving together stories of personal experience and the perspectives these grant is the deepest grasp upon beingness I feel capable of expressing.

I think you have a wonderful point about abstraction and metaphor coming closest to describing an indescribable feeling. You achieve it with such brilliant depth. It's an exquisite talent and perspective you bring to the world.

When I am inspired I feel glorious connection with the All Light, the deepest form of intimacy with the universe from which all flows. When it subsides, then comes others reaching out to me, connecting with my writing and the joy of oneness in community. Pervading my writing is the desire for and memory of deeper intimacies, one on one, that hope and desire threaded through, in a thoroughly human contradiction, with apprehension and loss.

It seems to me that our various forms of artistry, from the poet to the painter, the teacher who brings awareness to the student, the fisherman whose muscles move beneath bronzed skin, throwing his net in a perfect spiraling arc above the scintillating waters, we're all searching for that perfect zenith moment, all reaching for true connection with our deepest purpose.

This I think is one of those rare "Poet's Poem"...something that reads somewhat differently with each passing.
🙏 Harry

Thank you so much Harry

I never heard of a 'poets poem' before. It makes sense.

The reader can feel the grief in this. It's dark...and sort of ghostly. The photo is beautiful and is the perfect accompaniment to the poem. To me, the photo shows the perfect November sky. There is a scene laid out in this entire piece.  

Thank you so much Eerie. I was really lucky with the photo....totally inspired the poem.

appreciated as always.