do and be

Last fall and winter I thought a lot about the purpose of my life. I still might be looking for answers but I’m good with what I already have.

But these days, I’m facing thoughts about my identity.

There is a close relationship between who we are and what we do. But I don’t know which has the biggest influence on the other.

After asking myself what I need to do, it seems I need to think about who I need to be.

These questions are always tricked. We can pretend we have the freedom to answer anything but one man can’t build his own world. We only can work for the best.

X hours being a worker + X hours being a sleeper + X hours being an eater + X hours being a lover + X hours being a TV watcher + X hours being a public transit user…

Does time remain to be myself? And what does being myself mean?

existing

As I am drowned into realistic and materialistic concerns theses, I don’t have much head and time for creativity.

Well, story ideas still are going by in my head. But do story ideas matter?

I’m wondering if I could spend time learning to play guitar instead. Or gardening a little. What is creativity? Does it matter?

better pool tv shows

 

Wouldn’t pool games on tv be way more entertaining if the players were total morons?

not poetics, just logistics

 

I’m kind of neglecting this blog as I’m preparing to move out at the beggining of next month, as hunded of thousands of Quebecers… I’m a little deceived about the impact on my poetry these days. Too much realistic concerns, the poet is hiding.

guitar or no guitar?

Might be related to poetry but I feel like learning to play guitar. But I don’t know. As I have clumsy hands and a shitty voice, would it be a waste of artistic time? I know I could write awesome stuff right now but it would probably take me a couple of hours to deliver a decent performance of a Beatles song. And who cares about some other guy who could kind of play some Beatles song? Not that I would like someone to care about my guitar performance.

the poet translates

I love translating my French poems. Making decisions when the literal translation doesn’t work. I don’t know if these poems are better in English, at least some of them. It might be too early. I don’t know how skewed I am but I feel English is a more appropriate channel to talk about freedom. If I keep my rhythm I may be done with the translation in around 10 weeks. So maybe somewhere at the end of August the book will be available.

It’s crazy how poetry went from absent to central in my life. I think I would give up a lot of things in my life before poetry. Not that I have a lot of things I could give up…

how to foil a terrorist plot in seven simple steps

3. The fact that you do not know any actual terrorists should not in any way deter you. Necessity is the mother of invention: if you can find the right raw material — a sad, sick, lonely, drunk, deranged, disgruntled or just plain anti-American Muslim somewhere in the United States — you can make your very own terrorist.

This is the tastiest sarcastic editorial I read in months, at least…

speaking echoes

 

I’m thinking a lot about echoes these days. On how strong events on other people lives talk to my own life. Young woman dying too young from a cancer, nice and gentle people fired all around, great woman and mother living with some mean and angry husband… Lives telling me I should do more, do better with my own.

poem of the week – everything is irrelevant

Everything but you

Everything but the tree

Everything but the river

Everything is irrelevant

Everything but the wind

Everything but the bird

Everything but the rain

spontaneity

the quiet sound of my steps

the snow

Everything is irrelevant

Everything

Everything.

 

More poetry here