Why poetry, why
Why did I start writing poetry? A choice I made when I was just a young thing, and never questioned afterwards. Until today.
I was reading this article by Doc on common writer mistakes (like spending time sharing self deprecating memes instead of actually writing), and then my cat sighed when I was somewhere mid way through it. As my focus was pulled out of the article and back into the practical reality, it lead me to a realisation. Something that I should have known about myself, but in a stupid meta way I didn't because that's the whole point of it.
Do you know why I started writing poetry as a teenager?
Because I didn't know how to talk about the stuff that was happening inside me. I don't even want to use the word "feelings" as it wasn't just that. I didn't know how to talk about the things I was *thinking*, let alone feeling.
I was born and grew up in a complicated place during complicated times. Not saying things was a common survival technique. Politically and socially.
But as a new human being on this planet, I had to cope somehow. Even more - I had to figure shit out. So, I read. I read a lot. I read books given to me, books I found, books that were being hid from me. Anything with words in it (which includes a book on preserving fruit, and let me tell you, it was a bit of a downer as far as expectations about cool stories with cherries go).
I tried writing my own stories. But I wasn't ready for that yet.
So, I kept reading and it worked. I was starting to see and realise that human non-tangible inside stuff. But the more I read, the more I felt the need to also get to know my own self. Who am I? What kind of a person am I? What do I like?
Amongst the books I had devoured were also plays and poetry collections. For some reason I decided to try and write a line. Followed by a different line, not necessarily logically and chronologically related to the first one.
Before I knew it, I was buying more and more notebooks. Turns out that there was (and still is) a lot to process in lines, verses, and free form formatting or all those words. Not explaining myself, but sorting my more elusive shit in a way it makes sense to me.
Not having to coherently and logically explain and prove my arguments stated was the relief I found in writing poetry.
All the things I never learnt to talk about, all the observations about the world that I don't know how to voice, secret thoughts, unexpected feelings, reasons for my anger, all of that goes in the poems that I can't stop writing.
And as far stories go, I'm learning to write those, too.
Add a comment2 sleeps to go
Me freaking out 2 nights before I have to do a (solo) performance: tell me again that I'm allowed to fuck up.
Bandmate: you are supposed to.
Me: huh? You want me to fuck up?
Bandmate: yeah, otherwise it's kind of boring - you'll come, you'll say your piece, who'd remember that!
Me: when you say it like that, you have a point.
Bandmate: you should work it in your show. towards the end. if you haven't naturally fucked up, do the scripted one.
Shoulder turn
I went to my dance class the other day, and we did a girl choreo this time. Which meant that I had to be flirty with certain moves.
All my friends know - I am notoriously bad at flirting. There's the years old story about me flirting with a woman by saying: "I'm miss grumpiness!" The jokes go around and everyone's having a great time at my expense.
But! You can make fun of me all you like, as clumsy and as weird my skills may be, they work. The woman in question did become my girlfriend not too long after.
Can't wait for the next class now.
memory lane
This morning I was thinking how I reconnected with an ex just before I was leaving for London. We had dated as teenagers, but I broke up with him because I thought he was cheating on me with his ex. And 4 years later we met up again, and he told me that my face was so much more mature. Yet I slept with him again anyway (more than once, if I remember correctly).
I was thinking that had I not bought that one way ticket to London, I probably would have gotten back together with him. He was very charming, I found it v hard to say no to him.
But then I remembered all the other affairs I had at the time. It was definitely for the best that I was leaving, my love and sex life had become v messy.
The stamina I used to have, bruh, tho. Up until the last month and a half, I also had a full time dayjob. I was also going to school, and learning to drive. For that last month an a half, I had quit my job, gave up on driving, there weren't many classes either I just had to take the exams.
But one thing though, one of those affairs I had at the time is now my bandmate. One never knows where these things lead, I suppose.
def a bug
I've discovered a serious flaw in the universe: no matter how many new summer clothes I buy, the weather doesn't seem to get better.
What do poets do on staycation
Forget going to Paris to write in café's with all sorts of traditional pastries (and I can't really drink a lot of coffee anyway). Especially when the poet in question also does spoken word, aiming for rap, playing the piano and the bass. The best place to be is where all the gear is, y'know.
I have spent the weekend mostly writing, some house work, some just doing nothing.
Today I finally felt like getting my yoga mat out to spend some time on it. That was after I did so much vocal practice that all words stopped making sense to me and became just an alphabet soup, but made of sounds.
It's raining outside.
Red dot by this date
I want to mark this date, err, I believe it is currently the 11th of March 2026, and I have been outside in sandals for the first time (this year).
Granted, it was only to take the bins out and to get the (fresh) cat litter from the pick up box point thing. But every little counts, especially after this brutal and extra long winter.
Important news
I got another tattoo!
And found out that it's been nearly 5 years since the last one. At least according to Hell cz records.
Joking aside
When I go to the office, I feel like jumping on the table and saying:
"Any of you fucking pricks get me sick, and I'll execute every mother fucking last one of you!"
Faced with myself
I've been playing Clues by Sam daily for a week or so now. If anything, the results show my absolute zero patience levels. But since me and Neighbour compare results every day, maybe I will learn at least a tiny bit over time.
One can dream.
The magic of the potato salad
I've been working on a new poem with a slightly new concept. I was really stuck with it. And then I decided to make potato salad.
Now, the salad is almost ready, and I have an amazing idea for the poem.
Tbh, you wouldn't believe how much of my creative work has happened thanks to the potato salad making ritual.
I am also abnormally glad that potatoes don't have too much Nickel in them.
Allocated achievements
I have a built in wardrobe in my bedroom. Recently I got a delivery packed in a rather spacious, yet shallow box. I put the opened box at the bottom shelf (so to speak) of said wardrobe.
Furfur is very pleased with herself that she has figured out a way to sit in a box and be in a shelf at the same time!
Her little face was beaming with pride when she first discovered this.
I presume this is how a lot of CEOs feel. However, they tend to lack the adorableness required.
Help pain with more pain
I went to physio today.
Me getting dressed after the session: is this going to hurt this much every session?
Therapist: we'll see.
Me: OK.
Therapist: you do want me to help you, don't you?
Me: Yeah.
Therapist: then there will be some pain. you'll have to just withstand it for a while.
Me: **sighs** ok.
As I was leaving the room
Me: thanks for all the pain! see you soon.
Therapist: I'll remember that! I will! and next time I won't hold back, there will be more pain!
Me: OK. **closes the door behind me**
Certain levels
These days I have found myself editing unfinished poems with the metronome app open and flashing next to the notebook.
However, choosing the bpm is not as easy as one might think.
But it seems to be leading me towards experimenting with polyrhythmic flows. And that's a new level of fun and frustration.
Sudden realisations
Recently I've been thinking that maybe getting an FM synth is a bit OTT and irrational after all. Maybe the sensible thing to do is to get a bass instead.
Updated hardware makes one v pleased
When I got my Shure mic, I also had to get an audio interface, as there's no way to plug in an XLR mic into a computer directly. Back then I went with the obvious beginner choice - UMC22.
The thing was frustrating. It doesn't have its own drivers, so I had to use asio4all. Those highjack all the computer's sound, which was extremely annoying, as I'd have to unplug the interface to listen to something - be it my recording in the speakers, be it instructional youtube vid, or to practice my vocals along to the music they are meant for. It drove me nuts and my Shure was just collecting dust.
So, I decided to upgrade to something with actual drivers - Motu M2.
Now I have an external sound device that all my sound goes through - input and output. Music and recording stuff, as well as my everyday listening.
I must say, this is v satisfying.
