Failed Visionary
It takes a lot of work
to create the fleeting impression
that everything is all right.
No sooner have I told myself
that I can’t complain
than I plumb a deeper vein
of dissatisfaction.
The occasional hard-won flicker of hope
is hardly worth the effort.
For too long a conduit I have been,
receptive only to the works of others.
In this way, in a way, I have kept myself
going; and were it not for the pleasure
and enrichment I receive at this font,
I might long ago have given up.
Then again, I might have
achieved something myself.
There’s no point forcing it.
I’ve been forcing it for long enough:
going through the motions, motionlessly,
directionlessly, pleasurelessly. Attempting
is no longer tempting. Other than to furnish myself
with further proof of incapacity, there doesn’t seem
to be much point in trying anymore.
Maybe I can give up after all.
I should never have doubted my ability
in that area.
Another pointless examination of pettiness and envy.
In which the word ‘subsequently’ is overused:
http://artillerymag.com/books-to-hell-and-back/
I may as well face the fact
that I am no longer capable
of doing what I once believed
I was capable of doing.
Not that I had any reason to assume
that I was capable of it.
It was just a feeling that I had.
And now I have a different feeling.
A destructive overawareness of time
knives through the hot empty spaces
of an afternoon. A sense of urgency vaporizing
into torpor. Even the traffic sounds tired.
Do something, I tell myself.
What? The same thing I’ve been doing
every day for years on end
with varying degrees of failure.
“At the end of the day, these few fleeting moments
of glory are one’s only reward.”
Performance video from the La Luz de Jesus Gallery, 8/13.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ae2ywWx35ig&feature=player_embedded
I dread the ordeal of enforced jollification,
the pressure of pleasure: those strained circumstances
when something is thought to be wrong with you
if you cannot enjoy yourself under conditions
that are supposedly ideal for enjoyment.
Some people like to have fun.
I realize I’m not that into it.
It sounds tiring.
Passing the various stations,
the vicarious stations,
watching the other passengers get off,
without baggage, at the earliest stop –
once they feel they’ve done their time,
but wanting credit for riding it to the end of the line.
For at the terminal, what awaits?
Just a faded ticket, out of date.
I felt satisfied.
It was an unfamiliar
and unsatisfying sensation.
I wanted it to end.
And it soon did.
John Tottenham 