(Reblogged, rewritten and now included in THE SOLSTICE WELL.)

A writer writing about writing. How very original of me. You can skip by this article…

I have been writing some kind of poetry for over twenty years now and I clearly remember the first words penned down that were found a little too good to throw away. After that initial shock I gathered bits here and there, and it felt natural for me to write. I had to. It was really all I had at that time.

Initially, it was mostly about my personal suffering, what I could remember bits of and get hold of at that time, with my empty hope attached to it. Little did I acknowledge how bad my life really had been and were to become… I still write a bit like that today. I guess that it would be seen as very egoistic to do that kind of self-indulgence if I didn’t, big hearted as I am, include everyone and everything within that aspect of myself. Right? Right. I was walking around thinking and planning poetry in the supposedly intellectual town of Uppsala, and later in the supposedly “arty and semi-intellectual” part of Stockholm, Södermalm, for a few years. I did write some manuscripts that took forever and three or four days to make. Later on that got burnt up in mysterious fires, set by myself. I planned on starting up a small book publishing company as I have always been more attracted to planning the “business side” more than the actual writing. I think that at some point in my life, around fourteen years of age, I found it to be smarter to let others produce the normal junk and me mostly working with their junk instead. Sadly, few people did have interest in making their junk for me to handle at first, so I had to go down the drain first… (Story of my life.)

I never had the common thinking that if I take part in anything that it would have any shared part of me. The “guilt by association”, or if good a “shared status”. That is a retarded thinking, in most cases. Of course, if I did produce something negative with intent to harm or hurt something that is positive then it would be despicable. I guess, or rather I know, that I more just liked to picture myself as a writer than actually being one. I guess most writers do, the writing is not something any good writer like to do… I do try to avoid telling people that I write a bit, not only as I have published so little, it is more about the questions that follow suite. Also, the notion that if you write you must be really smart. I have a problem with that as I’m really dumb.

I often hear that most poets are amateurs, seeing that they rarely can sell enough to be called professional writers. This is mostly from people that seldom can find anything of value other than what kind of money something can bring; in order to set food on their table. Otherwise it is just air. They might be right in a sense. Anyway, this degeneration in sales of poetry is nothing to wonder about at all. Poetry today is mostly crap that has nothing interesting to say to anyone. And, it has been that way for hundreds of years due to the lack of Knowledge, a lack of everything really. That poetry has gone even more downhill since the Second World War ended is hardly worth noticing; that is just my universal and valid opinion. All these personal scribbling’s about love and suffering, all these simple and not knowledgeable thoughts on society and life, and all that plain nonsense that is thrown around in general, it is offending to me. For those that use poetry as a dumpster, where they with great exaggeration express “feelings”, really should start to search for other playgrounds as it deeply harms poetry. These “poets” have given up on poetry as the vehicle for Truth. Now they are writing poetry for the sake of writing and posing with it as “poetry”. Am I better than these described hazards? It is a question of reference points. Most do not understand, or care, what I write, but they will.

Have the poets given up to be the leaders for their folk? Do they try to be the teachers or would that just be impossible in today’s sad state of it all? We the poets; these visionaries, these Truth-seekers, the highest thinkers, the hunters in the ultimate quest to bring beauty, real freedom and Knowledge back to this world. Is it all lost as a goal for most to at least try? Is this a fait accompli? I personally see very little of interest in verse and rhyme, it is more or less the same silly melodies again and again, and then again. Most of versed and rhymed poetry is to be read like songs for children even if it deals with death and suffering. With free verse we have another problem. It is mostly just prose in hiding. Foul and boring. Have you heard anyone complain that poetry is boring? I have heard myself say that in my mind so many times now that it’s not even funny.

Strangely enough, other forms of literature, that all at some point in history have been derived from poetry, have much more impact on society at the moment. These are trends of little significance, I might add. The form is slightly different, but the content is more or less just boring dumb junk in all literature. I remember twenty years ago when I sent my poetry manuscripts (Under a taken name, as I was not really content with my writing at all. Still kind of wished to be published though…) to publishers; that they actually told me to write some kind of detective novels, or at least novels instead. Never. I wouldn’t defile myself with low class writing like that. Ha! Never! I guess I share this with most people that write poetry. We are so proud. (Well… I did write a “novel” that took me over two years to write, and was never really completed or seen by anybody other than me. That one is gone in a fire since long ago now. It was not a sell-out… I should have kept that one. Nah.)

I do see a real future for “poetry”. A future where it lyrically will never again be seen as just equal to the often empty lyrics made for music. Never to be seen upon as personal problems voiced by the angst-ridden in their need. Not as just some simple structures to please the simple minded sing-a-long-people with. Poetry will become a strong weapon against nothingness itself. I will of course be the leader. Where will you be?

(All irony to be found here is very unintentional.)

POETRY FLOWERS!