I renamed JD to Gimli, Son of Gloin.

I also call him: Mr. Mittens, JD, J-Dizzle, and Meowth.

Part 2 of 2 

Is your whole life in there waiting…

Next week is going to be the rest of my life.  I keep waiting on the day for things to change.  For me to say, today is the day.  Nothing changes unless I change it.  I am beginning to realize there are some things in life that if I want it, I am going to have to take.  Others, I will have to place hope in people.  Almost a year ago I quit something that wasn’t helping me.  Addictions require help, no matter what.  Luckily, for me, all it took was a beautiful woman.  It was a Sunday night.  I said, enough.  I put my online game account on eBay and generally didn’t look back (this is not specifically true, but for the sake of the post, I won’t explain). 

Looking back now I realize that it was a decision.  A real moment of clarity.  I have made other decisions.  Once and a while, I quit swearing when I get tired of sounding ignorant.  Currently, I am trying to stop clenching my jaw.  I decided to get married.  I chose English, in lieu of other options.  And so on… 

There have been plenty of old habits to shake off, old emotions and problem thinking.  I know I am a writer.  Now, I want to understand it.  Time to start writing, for one hour, everyday.

I had my shift switched at work and ss of Monday morning, between 8 and 9 AM (Mountain Standard Time), you will find me in front of my computer. 

Who is poetry for?  I have heard the notions thrown around that poetry is to be spoken and heard.  But poetry can also be and should be read and sometimes that is the only way I can understand a poem.  Or maybe the title should read ”Poetry is only for the English” (or the language a poem is written in).  I am babbling.  But, today, I have a reason?

Lastnight, Leif and I (and Matt) went to see Daphne Marlatt read at the UofC.  It has a great reading.  I didn’t know who she was before but a very solid poet (as her credentials will speak for) but also a very gracious person, it seemed.  Calgary readings are so different.  They had a FULL bar and everything was free–not to mention a full buffet line.  I had 3 beers and a glass of wine.  Awesome.  Alright, to the point…

Translation is considered to be an art.  When a poem is translated from French to English, let’s say, the original poet and the translator are recognized for their efforts.  I saw a new type of translation lastnight that I had never considered.  They had a woman signing the poems.  It was amazing.  Unfortunately, I do not think they were given commendation for their translations.  It was almost more interesting to watch the woman sign (granted I have not seen it a lot to begin with) because they embodied the poem.  For a more narrative section, I could see how the signer would physically change as she switched between mother and daughter (and other characters). 

This is a really interesting question.  I am fascinated to hear your thoughts about this.  I am not sure I would even want to have anyone sign my poems unless they were given credit.  I was talking to a co-worker about it this morning and she has taken some sign language classes and says that there is no mumbling in sign language.  Everything is about expression and animation.  A new spin on poetry for me, for sure.

Part 1 of 2 

The other night, Leif and I went out for a couple of beers and our conversation really affirmed somethings I was already pretty certain of.  Leah read me a study that outlined the difference between implicit and explicit memory.  Perhaps later I can find a quote to explain that or Leah can chime in on the differences, as outlined in the study.  However, it really got me thinking about how good I am at tricking myself.  How my brain will adapt so that it might protect me. 

I don’t know how many of you know this and I am not embarassed or ashamed of it (though I don’t regularly talk about it) but in the last semester of university I was seeing a counsellor for, what he labelled as, severe anxiety.  I didn’t go for very long, but I did learn a few things.  I really learned that my brain, for the most part, is not on my side.  (That’s a fairly relative statement to the topic.)  I realized my patterns of thought and how they affected me (negatively, for the most part). 

I am not writing about this because I need your help or I want a big group hug.  It just struck me how good I am at tricking myself from feeling that anxiety.  This is not like having a stare-off with the alarm clock and wanting to find out who will win.  I am very good at talking but not that great at following through.  And this is the real base for asking why.  It’s an act of avoiding all that I fear.

Now I have left almost all of my stress and vices behind.  Computer games, friends :D, TV, girls.  Got married.  And she’s pushing me–in a good way.  Now all that left is for me to push me.  Push down all the old thought patterns and anxiety.  Because when I don’t write and, especially if I am feeling inspired, bad things start to happen to my body.  My muscles knot up, I am sick to my stomach and maybe even my throat gets sore.  Damn you Logos! 

The answer is obvious.  If I had any sense I would be listening to Tracy’s advice (and the rest of you peoples as well).  Just do it.  And maybe tomorrow I will…