Bloggunnery

...I admire poets...one, in particular.

In my not so distant past, I knew of one who possessed the amateur artistry of a wordsmith, adept at maneuvering through the nuances of words. In my days of high impressionability, I loved him most for his words--not his looks, not his smile, but a shadow of his character through my perception of his poetry-- what I considered his delicate humanity in seeing the nature of people and the universe: I thought that this was first step to divinity, exercising our ability to grasp the abstract which are oftentimes unspeakable. Now upon closer inspection, after emerging out of such maddening experiences and having played my cards full out among strangers, expending my energy living and loving--naively, I must say--all the while shelving my artistic goals, taking a hiatus from theater in order to 'live' and find out other aspects of life I had neglected in pursuit of the rigor of this discipline, I have arrived at considering how differently we process the act of loving: there are those who feel it, truly feel it deep in their bones, who welcome the wonderous exhilaration and chaos of intimacy--all the confused, crazed and humbling stages of falling in love under the most surprising and imperfect circumstances versus those who speculate and wish to dive in. My poet, alas, is of the latter sort. I realize now how comforting words are to him, what a sanctuary these pages are to one who wish so passionately to feel passionately...O wondrous words that aim at a diluted substitution: intoxicating upon pronouncement you remain as insubstantial as the air whereupon you float. I see now that for the ignorant, words WILL taste sweetest for it references a territory beyond the pale of one's immediate comprehension--that place of power and utter helplessness.