I made it to the twentieth post and the twentieth follower. YAYYYYY
It makes me extremely happy to have actually been able to get people to read my works of horror, but more than that, comment and give feedback! I have been given some very kind words of compliment and advice, and this coming from people I consider my new friends. I have also made ANOTHER friend, whom has made a deal with me to reblog each others writing! Okay, well I brought it up, but I DIDN’T NEED TO BEG! Okay, maybe I begged a little bit. Either way, if you haven’t already, go in my “Incidents” tab and find THE BARN and click the shit out of that story! That is my friend who writes SAVANNAH GOTHIC. She is trying to build up her blog, just like me, and just like many of you.
Another thing I am amazed by is the discovery of not only my own lust for words, but the passion shared by others in their own blogs. HOLY SHIT! I never knew there were so many beautiful minds, and I have barely scratched the surface. The fact that these people not only write this or that and the other, but the fact that they have me diving ever deeper into the desire to not only READ, but actually to WRITE POETRY. I have a story about that, oddly enough!
Once upon a time, in another life, I married a girl and took her on a honeymoon. We stopped at a restaurant called the GOLDEN CHALET. We ordered our dinner and decided to live dangerously. Having only ever drunk sweet party store wines like Boones Farm or Mad Dog 20/20, my new bride and I ordered a glass of the restaurant’s house red. We wanted to feel sophisticated and classy and sophisticated and classy people drink red wine and say sophisticated and classy things about the sophisticated and classy red wine they drank.
When the wine was served, we both, my new bride and I, made a toast, clinked our glasses sniffed the rim of the glass (like they did on TV) and took a sip. And then spit that disgusting shit back into the glass and said, “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?”
That’s pretty much how I used to feel about poetry, but something is happening to me, now. I think it may have something to with what happened the next time I took a sip of real red wine, twenty years after the first time I had tried one. It was a Bordeaux Cabernet Sauvignon. I was ready to be repulsed by it, but I have divorced the woman and remarried over the last twenty years, and my new bride explained to me where the wine is made (Bordeaux France) and that there are many methods to wine making that span the ages, and each method can effect the taste of the wine.
After the preparation, as it were, she told me what flavors to seek and “look” for before I even tasted. I must say, having that little bit of education prepared me for a different sort of tasting. I had a better understanding of the wine, therefore a better appreciation for it. Needless to say, I didn’t spit it back into the glass and freak out. I actually felt more like what I set out to feel like the first time I tried it: Sophisticated and Classy!
Some of the poetry I have been reading on some of the blogs I have been reading makes me feel like that. I have one year in university. Two more till my BA is done. I have learned how to read and construct poetry, and my third level Writing Poetry class is two study periods away. What I am having a hard time coming to grips with, was why no one ever properly explained this concept of poetry to me before. Hm… Maybe they tried, and I wasn’t ready to hear it!
Finally, I just want to address one more thing. I have been really sort of wanting to see how deep my darkness dwells, but I am frightened by what I may find. Have you ever been swimming in a lake and treading water just fine, and you feel confident in your own abilities? Then, suddenly, you think, “Hey, I wonder how deep this water is?” So you take a breath and allow yourself to go down but don’t touch bottom before realizing, “Shit, this water is pretty deep.”
At this point, you pretty much have three choices. 1: Get the fuck outta that deep ass shit! 2: Chillax and keep treading. Or 3: Take another deep breath and instead of allowing yourself to sink, flip around and try to swim to the bottom, hoping you find it, with enough O2 to make it back to the surface!
This is pretty much where I’m stuck right now. I am treading just fine, but I want to know how deep this lake is, but I don’t want to … I don’t know … find out how fucked up I actually am. Does that make sense?
Thanks for reading! If you have an answer to that last question, would love to hear it! Later Freaks!