Here I am, back again. I think Saturday's post was a bit self indulgent, so now I'm going to make it worse by adding more! :D The thing that I didn't say, which is probably the most interesting, is that whenever I feel down (breaking apart, smashed up kind of down) I feel most aware of my inability to communicate. This, for a writer, sounds extraordinary, but I suspect my drive to write came out of this personality problem. I don't know why I am so bad at communicating. (If I did I probably wouldn't have a problem!) Maybe it's because I say too much? Or maybe it's because of shyness and low self esteem, which make me say the wrong things? Maybe it's because my perspective on the world is unusual? Or maybe it's a result of my head injuries (was I this bad before them?) Or maybe it's simply because I don't have much practicality about things?

What is certain is that people always get the wrong idea about what I am trying to say. I don't want to ramble on too much today, but I'd be very interested to know if other writers have the same issues.

Next time, I promise you, we're back to my work. In fact, here's a virelai ancien to keep you going. (It was of course written during the very dark time I spoke about on Saturday):

A Bubble

In air that gives me lift
I poise, as is my gift;
A bubble on the top
Of dark that seems to shift
To catch a spirit's drift,
And pull it to the drop:

I rise again and stop
And shimmer still, but not
Without my load of light:
And once again I flop
And tremble to a stop
In soul of awful night.

The sky is sometimes bright
But horror stalks my flight
And stable things I miss.
I hover out of sight
And wonder if I might
Break up in the abyss.


If you like this it can be found in an anthology of Winchcombe poets which has just come out, and also has several other of my poems. It reminds me of another thing that I think must account for a lot of my communication problems: I think in metaphor and symbol a great deal. For me the truest level of communication is the symbolic. I know this is unusual. Someone once told me I was a True Poet as I experience all of my life as poetry. I suspect that it's just because my grandparents were cousins and something unusual must have doubled up. (Haha, just inbred then?!) So... this is me being brief :D. I wonder if any of this makes any sense to anyone? Am I communicating?...