mahiwaga

now is the depth of winter
when the heart mourns for warmer days
when the sun hides behind the swirling clouds
and light plays games with the fog and the shadows
teasing with the bone-chilling brightness
and the darkness comes before you expect it
gaping like the black abyss
and the neverending fall

and the words do not come
quick-frozen, stillborn in my soul
not so much as a whisper escapes
between my cold-cracked lips

dry, listless wind
spinning the dead and fallen leaves
raspy sussurations against the frozen ground
reach out to catch one
slips away

like snowflakes
grasp out,
they melt into raindrops
mingled with sea-brine tears

creeping dread upon my soul
lost in the fog and the shadows
not knowing which way lies the rising sun
I reach for the words
like rough-hewn handholds in the dark, bitter night
failing, crumbling in my hands as I touch them
I am afraid to climb, yet fearing to fall

struggle to draw forth the words
(like living water, turned to slush in the copper pipes)
the shape and form
of warmth and brightness
the flickering flames of life’s sweet bliss
crackling embers in the hearth
and even the memory seeps away
cold and hollow

to not know the name of things
to lose, each one, bit by bit, drop by drop, to the endless howling wind
of winter’s dearth
desperately digging through the drifts and banks
seeking warm loamy ground

perhaps we must just wait for the ground to thaw

while postmodern literary critics (like critics of all media, genre, and timeperiod) can be full of shit, I really dig the creation of postmodern art (or is this post-post modern art? hey, art critics, I'm sorry for saying you're full of shit! can you please think of a proper name for this time period?)

for example, take this illustrations of a deliberate misinterpretation of a common spam subject.

interestingly, though in various shapes and forms, some of the bloggers that I read almost daily have been discussing letting go. so whether it is material objects, relationships and situations in general, or specific self-destructive behaviors, well, I generally do the opposite.

I admit it. I am a resolute pack-rat. I cannot, for the life of me, figure out how to get rid of all this stuff I've managed to accumulate since 8th grade. I have the Leaning Tower of Crap against the wall in my room (which was previously my sister's room, but she usurped my room while I was away in Chicago): fifteen boxes filled with papers, books, useless gewgaws and doodads with sentimental value, and worthless ancient computer equipment. I have already gone through one cycle of purging (eliminating three boxes) but do not have the wherewithal to go for another.

Damn it. I need a system.

For me, organization is an ambiguous term. Now, I consider myself a high-functioning individual, so, clearly, I've got to be somewhat organized to some degree. Still, I realize I don't really approach the social norm. (Not that I've ever really approached the social norm on a lot of levels, but that's something else entirely.)

There was a time I believed in organized chaos. While my environs might look like a miniature landfill, at least I knew where everything was. Whenever my mom would take the initiative to organize my room, my system would break, and I'd never be able to find anything, much less do anything productive. Typically it takes about a week for me to degenerate into this state after cleaning up. It's just how my mind works, I think. (Again, I find a quote from Charles Bukowski about kitchens very apt and sympathetic to my woes. There is also a Slashdot article regarding the same phenomenon somewhere, but, naturally, I can't find it.)

The problem is that I keep accumulating more and more crap, and I am deathly afraid of tossing something out that hasn't been properly regarded. I think it's because my ass have been saved on too many occasions where any sane person would've thrown something out 11 years ago, but I was able to dig it out of my closet in an hour or so just in time to save the day. For all those people who keep nagging me: "Are really going to use that again?" Well, you never know.

But, yeah, I appreciate being able to travel light. I was pretty happy when I was able to reduce my indispensable worldly possessions to one carload (not to say that I threw away the rest, I just, well, stored it.) So of course now that I'm back home (at least for now), I have about 14 years of crap to sift through. Lord.

But I've been interrupted too many times writing this entry, and I no longer know what I'm saying or doing, so I'll cut my losses, and stop here.