i'm getting my act together, as they say, changing things in my life that sucked and getting rid of some more old baggage i've been packing for too long. getting over things. getting back to my happy place.
been a bit of a miserable bastard for awhile, not happy and not enjoying life. finally last weekend i hit the wall, had a bit of a meltdown and realized i need to change, to get back to who i used to be, and to get healthy again. i'm chipping away at things.
creativity helps me a lot, and i've been writing quite a bit lately. working on a thriller, a super natural story about spence's bridge and my people. it'll be cool. i'm about half way through it. as well i've been writing some poetry and it feels good to get creative again.
it's easy to get into a rut, or a negative space or cycle and just sit there or ride in that loop forever and feel sorry for yourself and blame others. it takes courage to stand up instead of sitting there frozen, it takes strength to wade through that miasma of hell, small town ennui and break those cycles and loops you can feel trapped in. that's what i'm doing. accepting my mistakes and moving on, because moping doesn't do anything. in times of darkness and struggle, be brave because each day is a new day to get it right.
until next time lovers,
Chris Bose.
2 New Poems:
The party is over:
It hurts where I used to play
I’ve become invisible
To women of a variety
Of ages
As I let myself go
Here and there
Spilling out of my shirt
And sides
My orgasm sounds have become
My pissing sounds
Whereas a few years ago
I was enjoying the field
Now I enjoy watching
Marathon episodes
Of new comedies or
Action thriller series
I no longer think
About relationships
Or maybe “this one will work”
Or anything like that
I don’t want to share my time
With anyone anymore
Time is precious
I don’t want to learn to deal
with idiosyncrasies
Or live with anyone
Or listen to their bullshit
Or neurosis
No I’m content to putter
About my home
Make art
Play guitar
And parent my children
As I prepare
To enter the third quarter of my life
I’m cool with it.
The road:
I’m tired of it
Tired of being on it
It is no longer is fun
Anymore
I loathe hotels
Airports Cabs
And bus terminals
The smell of an airplane
As you get on
Dry, plastic and fake
Then later
the smell of farts when
Everyone stands up
After you land safely
Everyone squeezing out
A celebratory “I survived” fart
The fart smell of a cab or a bus
The air conditioning
Wheezing away
I’ve noticed
That people no longer
Talk to one another on buses
I think because everyone
Is exhausted and overwhelmed
And overloaded
By life
That and they’re endlessly
On smart phones, tablets
And other technology
Whereas people on planes
Still chat each other up
Probably because of some
Base fear of dying alone
In a plane crash
I do like being in fancy hotels
And looking like I don’t belong
Sitting there in my paint covered
Clothes
Tired, grubby looking
And worn out
Sometimes I’ll get asked if I’m staying
There to which I’ll reply
“No, but can I just stay in the lobby
for like five more hours?”
and security is called
and then I produce my key card
and identification which is verified
at the front desk
and the person or person who complained
look all confused and angry
while I smile and laugh
savouring that feeling
like I’ve created a new way
to hurt someone’s feelings
nom nom nom nom
it feeds me
being able to be in a confrontation
where I know I’m totally right
and there’s nothing they can do
about it.
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