Reading majic's journal

Nov 03, 2005 04:01 # 40105

majic *** tells about...

The love of me, part 1

This unknown entity that has been growing inside me for so many years is a force that cannot be reckoned with. The works I am writing are just pieces of a much larger puzzle, they make up this thing that is pulling me. They each tell their own individual story and they are so very emotional, so very emotional.

I have never felt anything like this before, I hope others understand. It's so very hard to put into words, whether my work is good in others eyes is inmaterial. The drive, the pull and the longing to put these words into geometric persuations is something that my heart and mind have come to love and need, oh the need! I see something in them that I don't know if any other person can see. This is not just a simple understanding of a poem, there is a complex symmetrical bond between a human emotion and the spoken word that rips at me, it calls my name and it's driving me.

There is meaning in these words and they can move mountains...

People write poems but I don't think many feel the way I feel. I don't just write them, they are an extension of me, they are the blood and the tears, they are the energy that binds me. They connect me to this invisible manifestation. It's out there and it's real and I know at least harold_maude knows this...

When I read the great poets I don't just read them, I want to be them, I want to feel the electrical impulses in their brains as they are writing it. I want to go back in time and experience the love, the raw unadulterated love, that pure selfless emotion, that sensual human longing, the magical impulses of creativity and gravity... I want to feel the love and the warmth that drove them to create this work. The words in their pattern and their flow are such an organic piece of machinery, a work of precision and art. It's not just a group of sentences separated by dashes and commas, no it's much much more, it's a microcosm of the human condition. The words were put in their respective arrangements for a reason. Each word has a direct correlation to the one before it and the one that proceeds it.

A word can mean so much, it can create a picture in your mind and a tear in your eye. Combine one word with others and you can have ocean of emotion flowing in the depths of your mind.

These words are colorful, they are magical, they create sounds in the corners of my mind that tickle my ears. I can laugh and I can cry and at the end of the day the emotional connection is exactly the same, it's raw, it's awe inspiring and travels at the speed of light through the reality that is known to my senses.

I am living, I am needing, I long for this.

A work that has captured my heart is the following by Emily Dickinson.

BECAUSE I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school where children played
At wrestling in a ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then ’t is centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses’ heads
Were toward eternity.

I wish I could share the things that are going on inside my mind from reading this. I don't know if another person but Emily feels the way we do about this piece of perfection. This work has captured the very essence of what I'm trying to get out of my human mind. I want so very much to put into practice the pure unconditional love that she has bestowed upon us. This work would not be justified by the word 'great', nor would it be likened to that of 'wonderful', it is so much more, so much more that a tear and a smile would be more fitting.

Another Emily Dickinson tear that runs down my face is this:

SUCCESS is counted sweetest
By those who ne’er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flag to-day
Can tell the definition,
So clear, of victory,

As he, defeated, dying,
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Break, agonized and clear.

I don't know if anyone feels this, I hope that others do. I'd be more assured in my world if I could share an emotional connection with just another soul about this love. This pure unconditional blatant fucking love. Sometimes it's so frustrating because there are just only so many words to describe this thing inside me. And I don't know if I could explain these two poems in any human spoken words.

Love me...

Nov 03, 2005 04:27 # 40108

harold_maude *** replies...

Re: The love of me, part 1

?% | 1

So brilliant a moment when the heart finally sings because finally the eyes breath awake, and the ears see with crystal clairity.
This is perfectly said and a magnificantly spoken work.
Thankyou. :)

Nov 03, 2005 04:32 # 40109

majic *** replies...

Re: The love of me, part 1

The words can pick me up, hold me near, take me to a place that seldom stroll. I can be here and I can be there all inside a word, what a brilliant thought indeed. Today I'll take a journey, tomorrow an expedition inside the thoughts of another. I can be anyhere I want to be, if I just open my mind.

Nov 06, 2005 03:48 # 40177

zen *** replies...

Re: Where love resides, part 1

?% | 1

First, I think that this tale is remarkably cohesive and coherent. It is easily digested.
The only negative criticism that I would give this wonderful bit of writing is that the title is the only weak thing about it. I don't think it accurately captures the complexity and neuance of the work itself. I wouldn't presume to come up with a better title for your work. The title is an excellent chance to mince words, and have fun, or set a tone, or do all sorts of wonderful things with the atmosphere of your work. Think of it like a conductor, in a sense.

Your economy of words is brilliant. It's moving. Right off the bat I have have to congratulate you for ntroducing the poem by Emily Dickenson. Another brilliant move. I can see why you like it. Her poem puts an interesting face on something as profound as death.
I had a similar experience when I read Casteneda's Don Juan books. In there he talks about death being always over your left shoulder. Don't give in to sloth, and live light. We are all luminous bodies. Literally, I think they blew a few of the circuits in my mind.

There is meaning in these words and they can move mountains...

let that statement linger in the air for another minute

It's out there and it's real and I know at least harold_maude knows this...

you can add my name to that list

A word can mean so much, it can create a picture in your mind and a tear in your eye. Combine one word with others and you can have ocean of emotion flowing in the depths of your mind.

isn't that a wonderful thought? That paints such a pretty picture.
Your use of allusion and illusion are most excellent.

The words in their pattern and their flow are such an organic piece of machinery, a work of precision and art. It's not just a group of sentences separated by dashes and commas, no it's much much more, it's a microcosm of the human condition. The words were put in their respective arrangements for a reason. Each word has a direct correlation to the one before it and the one that proceeds it.

I've long know that good writing is like building a house. It's also like an equation. It can be simple, or complex, with many variables, and floors. Good writing is balanced, and smooth, and sporty and nimble, and it should take us there in style.

Part of the equation is that for as beautiful as my writing is, I feel like Cyrano DeBergerac. I'm a social pariah. I'm disliked by many. My spoken voice is shy, and unsure. For as sleek and sexy as my writing appears, I am a blundering, club footed, misfit. As sure-footed and stealthy as my work may be, I am untrue, and insincere.
But if my words are full of light and infinity, and enlighten another's world, doesn't that pale one's sins? If the result of these boldly moving words is for reader to think deeper, or feel more intensely, or to reach a higher orgasm, then in that moment, isn't it a truly spiritual gift?
After all, not everyone can write well. Some who don't should. Some who do shouldn't.
Writing keeps me sane. It lets me believe that I might actually be nimble, and sexy.

Once Fred Neitszche declared God is Dead, f*ck became the most important word in the English languag

Nov 06, 2005 04:08 # 40179

majic *** smiles...

Re: Where love resides, part 1

Part of the equation is that for as beautiful as my writing is, I feel like Cyrano DeBergerac. I'm a social pariah. I'm disliked by many. My spoken voice is shy, and unsure. For as sleek and sexy as my writing appears, I am a blundering, club footed, misfit. As sure-footed and stealthy as my work may be, I am untrue, and insincere.
But if my words are full of light and infinity, and enlighten another's world, doesn't that pale one's sins? If the result of these boldly moving words is for reader to think deeper, or feel more intensely, or to reach a higher orgasm, then in that moment, isn't it a truly spiritual gift?
After all, not everyone can write well. Some who don't should. Some who do shouldn't.
Writing keeps me sane. It lets me believe that I might actually be nimble, and sexy.

Zen are you fucking kidding me? I absolutely ador you. I will hug you until there is no tomorrow. You have not only single handedly figured out this equation but you've hit the proverbial nail right on the head. This paragraph from eternity rests along side my favorite Emily Dickinson poems. Thank you. Have a wonderful night....

Love me!

Nov 12, 2005 05:59 # 40386

zen *** replies...

Re: Where love resides,

Thank you for that wonderful compliment. That type of understanding and exchange about writing, thoughts and feelings which flowed so freely is what I loved about Litkicks. It's what I like about here too.
This place definitely feels like a coffeehouse, or somewhere equally as social and intimate, yet it's public and inviting.

There's something exhilerating about posting my thoughts and honest opinions for my friends here to see. But there's this inverse oddness to having real life friends read my work, and comment on it.

It truly is a brave new world. Everyone's famous, and unknown at the same time. But here, at this space and moment in time, we talk, communicate, and share thoughts. Miles disappear, and we are in the same room, talking and discussing our thoughts, feelings and beliefs.
All those reading this, following along, all those who've ever followed along in one of your threads, or any of our mutual friends here, are celebrities and famous, because they are drawn into this great experiment in mass communication.

Your post, your experiences, us talking about the poem, we imprint this moment onto the ether; we add our voices to the infinity of voices that have come before us, and continue on after ours.
It is only in voicing your truest thoughts that your voice can be heard, and join with the Infinite.

Once Fred Neitszche declared God is Dead, f*ck became the most important word in the English languag

Nov 14, 2005 16:00 # 40429

majic *** replies...

Re: Where love resides,

But there's this inverse oddness to having real life friends read my work, and comment on it.

You got that right, if my "real life friends(tm)" discovered this place I've been posting these rather revealing accounts of myself then I could surely not show my face in public anymore.

Plus if you go back and analyze alot of my replies to other posts you could see a pattern of cluelessness and hypocracy. I flip flop on more things than I can count. Some of my postings are completely childish and rather inhumane.

Nov 14, 2005 21:57 # 40442

Hardballkid *** laughs about...

Re: Where love resides,

?% | 1

You got that right, if my "real life friends(tm)" discovered this place I've been posting these rather revealing accounts of myself then I could surely not show my face in public anymore.

Haha. Yeah, I hear you. I shared and spoken many things that I want NetAlive and NAO alone to know. I believe everything is nice and safe here- we are all intellectuals- with the exception of myself most of the time.

Most people that know me don't even know I write. And for the few that do (i.e. mother, brother,a friend, & few others maybe) have no idea to what extent I do. It's not usually something I make known to anyone for obvious reasons (for those of you who have read any of my stuff can figure.)

Testing the waters with my work here at NAO has definetly helped me to open up a little more and improve on my writing thanks to comments and suggestions, however.

Some of my postings are completely childish and rather inhumane.

No worries Majic. The most childish rhetoric you speak (which I have yet to see) is probably my most intelligent. I've learned, for the most part, to shut and mouth and drop the pen when stupid thoughts seize my mind. So as you can imagine- I'm quite most of the time.

Now are ye undeceived! Welcome, again, my children, to the communion of your race!

Nov 06, 2005 07:39 # 40185

MelMel *** replies...

Re: Where love resides, part 1

Part of the equation is that for as beautiful as my writing is, I feel like Cyrano DeBergerac

Ahhh, Cyrano, possibly one of the greatest characters, and plays, ever written. I'd very surprised if everyone here didn't relate to Cyrano de Bergerac in some form, all of us who "look like a circus act but am stuffed full of poetry". I feel as if everything I feel and believe has been said so eloquently already by you all in this thread so I hope you'll forgive a little tangent.

Im curious as to your opinions of Christian. Beautiful but stupid, however he is humbled by this very fact. I'm inclined to have a lot of respect for such a character, who insists that Cyrano tell Roxane of the whole plot, and of Cyrano's love. However (i might be mistaking order of events here, apologies if so) Christian does say this while he is dying. Do we/can we respect a person who is utterly stupid and ineloquent for their heart and pure intentions?

The world would be a better place if everyone were forced to read Cyrano de Bergerac. However, the world would be full of violence and pain if everyone were made to watch the godawful modern adaption 'Roxanne'.

-Mel ;)

Look at me! I'm a prostitute robot from the future!


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