Ocean Vuong, reading, poem, interview

from : Ocean Vuong, Someday I'll love Ocean Vuong

'& remember, 
loneliness is still time spent 
with the world. Here’s 
the room with everyone in it. 
Your dead friends passing 
through you like wind 
through a wind chime.'

Someday i'll love Ocean Vuong

with him reading

Ocean Vuong, interview

T. S. Eliot ,reading ,Ash Wednesday

musings of the evening

there is something which disturbs me.
i read a lot, daily. such as brainpickings, a website i really enjoy.
but: wheresoever, there is always this talk on creativity,
i am slowly saturated with it.
it sounds like a must do.
suffering, depression, melancholia, loss, illness,
sadness, madness, all exquisite, all meaningful,
all can enhance creativity:
"they" say.
am i born to be creative same as supposedly to propagate?
listen, i don't really like to write poems so much,
fuck around with paint or have long discussions
leading nowhere but to feel out.
if there is this creative force, i'd rather like
to take it into daily life, cook, eat well,
take time for leisure, create space and enjoy slowness,
make love and rest in loving arms
and dream and sleep and walk and take time out.
maybe- if i can- care for my love, for my horse, for a garden,
possibly make an old house inhabitable and a garden to bear fruit.
and i don't wish to do ALL alone. not at all.
it needs a partner who does not only want to be out
but can be ready to create and actively share perspective and a full presence,
warmth and soul and skin.
creativity made a religion for people living alone
and bearing disillusionment is for sure not an aim
to follow. it just happens. and maybe a little better than
mere boredom and frustration and despair. well, yes.
but that's all.
all the time, really, i read this stuff as if it could be a solace, a consolation:
it isn't.
i don't wish, i say it clearly, to be alone for the sake of so called
creativity.
nobody, nobody at all, is really alone.
nobody can be, neither the I nor the non-I.

And by came an Angel

"The Guardian Weekend", 12 December 29 2007
"I was 30 before I learned to read"
Antonia Moore

And now she quotes Blake:

"And by came an Angel who had a bright key/
And he open'd the coffins & set them all free."

And I quote A.Moore:

"That's what happened to me: I was set free."

Very honest and beautiful writing! You are a graceful person, Antonia Moore.


Today I did an 8 hour shift in Berwick Infirmary, went for an Indian meal,
quarrelled with my wife on the phone, got good with her again.

The news are still mainly Benazir Bhutto. I don't think it should be discussed in such detail whether she died from banging her head on the car or by a bullet. It was a violent act one way or another. I noticed that I don't know much about Pakistan.

Do you know the wonderful ways for psychiatric admissions in the UK? I spent nearly 2 hours yesterday night in a NHS vehicle in front of a nursing home trying to get the right people.
I know that this is "normal" here!

I am in two minds....