Noel B

silly of me to worry that just because I've had trouble actually writing creative stuff lately, I'll never write again

"what if I get too into science or whatever new career I'm pursuing and I never actually go back to the art that I love?" I think, as I jot down poetry verses in the middle of a biology lecture because one of the fundamental properties of life is homeostasis/regulation and... is there anything more poetic than withstanding the chaos of the universe, not by creating an impenetrable barrier between "out there" and "in here" to passively isolate yourself, but by shifting, changing with and against world, whatever it takes as long as you remain true? To be alive is, by definition and consensus, to continuously and automatically create the conditions that allow you to keep living.

anyway I don't think I'll ever be able to stop creating art

The Tiger - by Nael, age 6

The tiger
He destroyed his cage
Yes,
YES
The tiger is out

I used to not "get" poetry, until I stopped trying to get it and just started to enjoy it. And unironically, this little poem written by a grade one student who knows how many years ago is the poem that did it. There is just something about it that clicked with me bypassing all my intellectualizing instincts.

To this day, it's my actual favorite poem. To the point that it inspired my first (and so far, only) painting, attached to this post.

This is a microblogvember post! Here's the list of prompts if you want to participate

don't go dunking on this person but do go reading the erasure poems in the quote tweets. Some of my favorites:

When you were looking at Grishkin's underlined Russian eye, I studied the skull beneath the skin. When your uncorseted bust was promising pneumatic bliss, I mastered the anguish of the marrow. While you wasted your days in Grishkin's drawing room in pursuit of a feline smell, I crawled between dry ribs. And now that the Abstract Entities are circumambulating your charm and the Brazilian Jaguar is at the gate you have the audacity to come to me to keep your metaphysics warm?

"Whispers of Immortality," paraphrased