BIT #1: I don't make the Rules

My brain makes all the big decisions around here, ask them.

Of late, it has become apparent my brain's quirkiness has caused some significant, negative consequences. Spending the last five days making #NaPoWriMo the focus of my attention, and simultaneously looking back in time to where my poetry journey began, has unearthed some uncomfortable home truths. We are, as a result, now entering a period of reflection, and I think sharing this could be useful.

This picture was my husband's. It still is, I just borrow it from time to time to ground myself within the narrative that it began. That means the visual poem below, which was part of Issue 2 of Acropolis Journal, would not exist without it, because that was the first time I made a conscious effort to tap into the feelings of things larger than myself as subject matter. Looking back at what has transpired over the last eight years was bound to throw up the unexpected.

I'd forgotten how good a lot of my Twitter daily stories were, for starters, and I'm grateful for having taken the time to have long-formed them before they were deleted forever. There's a ton of stuff I also have no memory of either creating or sending anywhere. It's painfully apparent when I stopped producing work that made me happy and began doing things I thought would get published, and how my mental health suffered as a result. We are now fixing that issue.

I think that's the biggest revelation that's emerged for quite some time.

I'd also forgotten there's a second poem in the Acropolis anthology:

This is a poem about my sexuality. I don't want to stand on a stage and flaunt it, neither am I compelled to make it a vital part of my creative process either. There was a residency proposal that offered to do just that for someone else's stage show a few months back and the idea of sharing intimacy in such a way was a real wake-up call. Why should it be necessary to do so when what matters more are the words? Accepting other people need this as validation is enough.

When you constantly exist in multiple spaces and times simultaneously and often crave to cease to exist completely, anchoring yourself to normality becomes increasingly important. I spent decades convincing myself that all that mattered was telling people what I was doing in the hope someone else would connect and have answers to the questions that never seemed to be answered.

Not every response needs to be dealt with. Many should be left well alone.

Sticking to an ethical framework has become the most freeing thing, which you'd expect never to be the case, that it should make it really tough to manage the restrictions and constraints of modern living. The truth is that being told other people's answers will fit your requirements is a massive, massive lie. There is no loss in stepping away. There really is no fear in missing out, only of not seeing everything at a distance or with a focus that reveals it's true significance.

Reality is about to get serious starting this week. I've just had the request for press and photography for the Art Trail pop into my Inbox. I at least have a plan on that front, and the organisation is in full swing. For now, we will attempt to keep the navel-gazing to a minimum: if it happens, you'll now know which posts you can overlook, if this is not of interest to you.

For everyone else, it's time to strap in :D