Posts tagged ‘Regret’

March 23, 2014

CVI

Past Prime

Contact with anybody
who has produced work of quality
fills me with an air of thwarted yearning empathy,
an implausible sense of fraternity,
a melancholy sting.  Regret and resentment
gnawing at me, eating me alive.
This is what you reap
when you haven’t sown anything.

February 21, 2014

Chair, Sofa and Bed

Repetition

Between these three points of love
and sloth (mostly the latter),
I flounder.  Resting, without laurels,
restlessly.  Pausing between pauses,
to inventory this harvest of  regret;
to consider from every angle of  unease,
this permanent rut… to forever name remainless,
staring at a curtain.

January 9, 2014

Requiem for a Fallen Racetrack

IMG_7255

Has it really come to this?
http://artillerymag.com/tottenham-corner-4/

March 25, 2013

A Lifelong Brush With Obscurity

Obscurity

Contact with anybody
who has produced work of quality
fills me with a thwarted yearning empathy,
an implausible sense of fraternity,
a melancholy sting. Regret and resentment
gnawing at me, eating me alive.
This is what you reap
when you haven’t sown anything.

December 13, 2012

past, resent, future

images-2_2

Living in the present, negligibly;
regretting the past, sweepingly;
and speculating upon the future,
incredulously.

 

December 4, 2012

Second Blush

 

I resent you for bringing out these feelings:
I was better off without them.

 Cranach_Lucas_the_Elder_Diana_and_Acteon_art_gallerys_prints_arts_p

You have evicted me from myself;
banished me to a semi-autonomous region;
to a statelessness beclouded
by fear of regret.

November 21, 2012

Living Too Late

It is pointless to have reached this point:
this summit of finely seasoned staleness.
The callow negativism of youth matured to a dubious vintage,
with a voluptuous bouquet of regret
and a lingering aftertaste of self-disgust.

November 10, 2012

REGRETS

I don’t understand people
who claim that they have no regrets in life;
who insist, out of gratitude, pride or ignorance,
that they wouldn’t want to change a thing.
My life is a raging river of regret, flowing
into a sea of shame. There is very little
I wouldn’t do differently if given a second chance.
I always knew I’d end up feeling this way:
It was a setup. Regret was something
I worked towards, something I felt I had to earn.
And now, naturally, I regret that too.

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May 24, 2012

Parasitology

I measure my life by other people’s milestones.
All this evasion, absorption and accumulation
provides a foundation in tradition,
a rich vein of consolation.
Art, like death, makes life more interesting.
And without it: as unthinkable as love
without pity, or a selfless eulogy.
But the bondage of receptivity
compares most unfavorably
with the selflessness of productivity.

March 1, 2012

AVALANCHE

I am the stale receptor, the superfluous accumulator,
the redundant completist trapped
in his cave of musty retention,
buried under years of absorption… unaborted;
decades of consumption… consumed,
sacrificed at the altar of other people’s art,
while everything else fell apart.
Pondering, at last, all the pointless consolation;
questioning if it was really necessary
to devour entire genres until I was crapulous
from gorging myself on culture,
As if it were some kind of achievement
to accumulate all this knowledge
that will die with me.
So that on my headstone it will read:
that I read and lived a lot of fiction…
that Art ruined my Life.

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