The more time I spend online sharing my poetry and photography, the more I realize how much of it is manufactured. There is so much out there that makes you wonder whether it's true, and more often than not, it isn't. Spending too much time online, or at least not having a balanced life between the "real" world and the "virtual" one, I think, will lead us further from the truth of who we are as humans.
Well said. I often find that people who consider themselves to be non-conformist are only conforming to another culture or subculture. Punks, skinheads, goths, trans, they all conform to type. Music, politics, uniform, etc.
You can tell a true non-conformist by their effortless attitude to not needing to belong. Nothing to do with dress code, politics (often no allegiance to any political ideology), music, etc. I never needed to belong to anything. No tribe. This, of course, can cause obstacles and upset them about you. Oh well. Too bad. There are sheep, and there are shepherds. I'm the goat blowing raspberries at them from the next field.
I never considered what I identify as. I'm uneducated, diagnosed schizophrenic, a drug addict, was a criminal for thirty years, self-taught in all I know, and I came to writing and art later in life. But I always had mystical visions since I was little. As long as I remember. Always existed in an altered state of trance, and dreamlike delirium.
If I had to claim an identity of sorts, I'd call me a Schizo-Mystic.
Ramble on old son. Rambling in the woods or on paper/screen is all good. I despair at social media and avoid it most of the time but I admit I keep my eye on posts made on our local neighbourhood site and, sifting through the complaints about dog shit and poor parking, I look for posts that make interesting found poems, so here for your amusement is just one of them, verbatim, the only adjustment being line breaks, punctuation, spelling corrections and the title I have given it, pinched from the final line. All the rest is just as I found it......
The more time I spend online sharing my poetry and photography, the more I realize how much of it is manufactured. There is so much out there that makes you wonder whether it's true, and more often than not, it isn't. Spending too much time online, or at least not having a balanced life between the "real" world and the "virtual" one, I think, will lead us further from the truth of who we are as humans.
I'm sure you're right Sam.
Well said. I often find that people who consider themselves to be non-conformist are only conforming to another culture or subculture. Punks, skinheads, goths, trans, they all conform to type. Music, politics, uniform, etc.
You can tell a true non-conformist by their effortless attitude to not needing to belong. Nothing to do with dress code, politics (often no allegiance to any political ideology), music, etc. I never needed to belong to anything. No tribe. This, of course, can cause obstacles and upset them about you. Oh well. Too bad. There are sheep, and there are shepherds. I'm the goat blowing raspberries at them from the next field.
I never considered what I identify as. I'm uneducated, diagnosed schizophrenic, a drug addict, was a criminal for thirty years, self-taught in all I know, and I came to writing and art later in life. But I always had mystical visions since I was little. As long as I remember. Always existed in an altered state of trance, and dreamlike delirium.
If I had to claim an identity of sorts, I'd call me a Schizo-Mystic.
Ramble on old son. Rambling in the woods or on paper/screen is all good. I despair at social media and avoid it most of the time but I admit I keep my eye on posts made on our local neighbourhood site and, sifting through the complaints about dog shit and poor parking, I look for posts that make interesting found poems, so here for your amusement is just one of them, verbatim, the only adjustment being line breaks, punctuation, spelling corrections and the title I have given it, pinched from the final line. All the rest is just as I found it......
Smile for the Cameras
To all the rats
who come out at night,
especially the ones
who live in Stanley Street,
flashing their car lights,
drug dealing, smoking cannabis,
sniffing nitrous oxide,
throwing their takeaways,
gas canisters, rubbish everywhere,
music playing , off their heads,
behind the back of Warreners Walk ,
hiding so no one can see them,
ignorant disrespectful,
park outside your own houses,
you need to get a job ,
obviously your wives don’t know,
keeping us awake all night,
you have been caught on camera,
and reported to the police.
Smile for the cameras.
I love an occasional found poem!