Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Being such a morose mess of melancholy thinking about you and them and feeling so lonely lonely lonely and everybody saying do something do something do something but I didn’t but standing in the cementery after my uncle’s funeral a dreary spring Saturday with drizzle (perfect weather for an interment) I felt not grief but regret I cried from regret I’ve been preoccupied with that quintessential american question who am I ? but more importantly is what am I and I am living I am breathing no no I’m dying we began to die the moment we were born (where’s that from?) but I’ve been waiting doing nothing but dying I’ve been waiting for everyone else (I’ve been dying for everyone else) I want to bike to the park I want to bike to the lake I want to bike across France and into Italy I want to bike to the moon let’s goooo now let’s go to Mexico let’s go to Toronto I want huevos rancheros I want beer I don’t care anymore I don’t care I don’t care I’m dying now my body is eating itself slowly my stomach acids will consume me from the inside out but let’s do something before I’m standing by my grave (oh mother I can feel the soil falling on my head) and I’m crying from regret like I cried for my uncle we were born dying but we’re not dead yet

sounds like a cleansing process going on... we all need those from time to time. don't take it too seriously... that is when you get into real trouble.

Boho wrote:

I’ve been preoccupied with that quintessential american question who am I ? but more importantly is what am I and I am living I am breathing no no I’m dying we began to die the moment we were born (where’s that from?)

Not sure where it is from, I have heard it so many different times, mousey1 said it so beautifully I will google for the poem.
Going to edit this for typos and stuff and add the link [color=blue]here[/color]

boho wrote

who am I

Funny you should ask. On antother string westie asked us to post our favorite writting. I been searching for something I wrote a long time ago for an assignment at vudotorg. I was supposed to write in the oppsite gender. The title was "who am I"

Driving me crazy trying to find it. Post it here
when i find it.

Good piece of creative writing bohonato, if I was to take it literal I would have to say where is joel when I need him. Just thinking about "tolerance"

Maybe it is not good enough for lutherans But it works for me.

you know me
always thinking about what I think
I hardly scratched the surface of this piece

I got to go look for the mousey1 poem.

Trying to keep in mind that you posted this to the creative board.
This was good
shit

a purge
like Cecil said
mourning is healthy healing
but dangerous when melancholia comes calling
an occupational hazard for poets and artists and other creative souls.

that's my jam on this one boho
I am jack of all knowledge
master of none
What can I sayto you?


in cyber pal ship
jt.

I get squirmy about back editing posts
Got my @$$ flamed all over at litkicks for doing that

So here is the link to the mousey1 poem I mentioned

http://www.studioeight.tv/phpbb/viewtop ... ht=rotting



If I ever find the "Who Am I" assignment I will post it here.


I have been a fool too. A Fool On The Hill[/b] I felt the way you sound in this piece after my Uncle Abe's funeral. The cemetary located next to a slaughter house, the shrieking hogs being slaughtered whilc we reaped the Hebrew words. That beetle song always cheered me up. Something I learned from a buddhist mentor here jimbo, no way around despair, straight ahead and through it. something like that.

Hey if I ever win the lotto I am going to get a forty foot sailboat, commit suiced by sailboat. Sail to scotland. Come on with me bring a friend. Bring your bike.

Too late, dam those were my mother's favorite words to me when I was in my thirties.

I still feel that way sometimes, that is when I read poetry...

still thinking about this

we began to die the moment we were born (where’s that from?)

Something else on the tip of my tongue, so familiar but I can not think what it is..

The mousey poem was just the first thing to come to mind. But there is something else, maybe Kerouac.

Have to get it out somehow. It took me well over six months to finally cry after I had to put my cocker spaniel down (I was drunk and encountered another rescue dog and I couldn't help thinking of my Rikki (after Kipling, the mongoose Rikki Tikki, got him from the Humane Society after he was found abandoned in the woods in winter, was afraid of men his entire life)). I'm glad it took me less than a week for this one, it gets wearisome carrying it around.

I wish I could remember where I heard/read that bit about dying the moment we were born. Maybe it was Kerouac, I don't know.

You know what Kerouac thought about editing. (I've been rereading him, and I feel the same way, I don't really like him, or how he presents himself, but I read them for Ginsberg, Snyder, and Corso)

I'll grab my bike and we can ride the waves. The thought of Ishmael floating alone in the ocean as always terrified me, but I would rather be eaten by sharks than die here.

So sorry for your loss bohonato.
This is one epiphany that can be painful....realizing indeed, that we are born/and dying at the same time. But there is potential long life in between so don't forget that. Death is part of life! Life is a process of dying, full of beauty, intrigue, pleasure, pain. Don't forget this!
Hugs
H

I felt not grief but regret I cried from regret

I got to check the definition of regret, but off hand I wonder if it has something to do with guilt.

i used to wonder why we would cover the mirrors in a house of mourning.

My uncle told me it had something to do with guilt. That the living do not want to see their faces least they feel guilty for living.