The Songs of Pardon or This is my Passion

Make no mistake. Passion kills us and leaves us wounded and in the words of Nietzsche: Passion leads us to the ‘Will to Power.’ Ugh. What a troubled lot we are. This is my Passion. Poetry. Poo-etry. These silly fragmented things we plunge together to make a sentence and keep a language. These willful wily words that have all meaning and none. Recently, I was asked to create my first manuscript, which I have not yet completed. It is now going on about one month or so. I am procrastinating badly. As writing about, reading about and avoidance at all costs to jump into the abyss of that emotional unsafe ne0lithic and primal rendezvous that all writers both love and abhor, desire and defy, resist and reclaim over and over again is what I am avoiding. Sooner or later. I’m deliberating with poems, ecstacies, words, phrases, ideas, memories, images, lyrical phrases, rhymes, abstract nuances with language and rhetoric. I am tired and must get some shut eye. My pieces keep changing as I revisit them for this manuscript I have named ‘The Songs of Pardon.’


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