A Stay

My stay in that city was like a dream
And the dream lasted for years.

I was, in fact, not interested in anything
So long as I heard a voice dictating verses.

And in that way I invented a life,
And thus my destiny was being fulfilled.

Some people believed that I was theirs,
So they put trust in my disguises.

I reproach myself for that,
For I wanted to be different,
Trustworthy, brave, noble-minded.

Later on I would only say: why reach so high?
I am and will be lame,
Which is no one's concern.

From Czeslaw Milosz's "Second Space"

we agreed that the more we see of the world the more we find it fractured and dense with evil. we try our best to cope or escape depending on your definition, but our mechanisms differ. one way is to inflict more pain; for me, i let pride, not passion, lead me on when i'm up against the wall and trying to be brave to please the world and my self that's looking on. somehow we end in a rut no matter which way we choose. there is no escape, perhaps. and our views of the world can be changed. but at what cost, my friends. some things, like my tendency to hide behind my mom's responsibility for my life, should be changed. but what about things like sensitivity to suffering, or the yearning for the stars that impregnate the mothers of great men. even a brush with such ideals would redeem our flawed lives, i feel. but the distress failure brings that outweighs the brushes may just blot everything out.

i'm confused.

nyc was terribly artsy, it felt good to be back in litty days. but there was always something in my training about treasuring the salt of the earth more that nagged quietly when my breath was taken away by a passing poetry of the moment.
bloody nyc. i took you in but you took me in as well.