The Man Who Loathed Whispers (2)

April 2, 2009 at 9:08 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 11 Comments

After all, every writers voice is an artificial construct, just sitting here watching the clouds go by and bye. What shinier cliche so well polished resolving into smoke and mirrors of course, haha, revolving doors of the didactic and pedantic. He hears the rattle in his chest, his chains and of the pins dropping in the lock.


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  1. beautifully expressed…
    and as a reply to one of your comments on my blog about publishing…
    I’ve been working on a novel that I plan to publish but for some reason I’ve been facing a serious case of writer’s block…

  2. Sometimes you feel that you have
    All the wrong sort of air in your lungs
    And you just want to cough it up.

  3. intense (rattling, chains, pins) while at ease (laughter, watching clouds) it seems to reach a
    deep well of rippled water while it flies above noting the reflection, fine xtra fine writing

  4. I’m flippin’ certain I can hear a mandolin playing in the distance, don’t you? Oh yes.

  5. Perhaps because I just watched two magician movies, I feel like this is a magician’s trick of revolving smoke and mirror doors with shiny brass frames and locks with pins dropping, endlessly revolving, the rattly poet’s voice appearing and disappearing in clouds with every revolution of the magical doors.

  6. “The revolving doors of the didactic and pedantic”… how aptly you describe, in this prose poem, the state writers find themselves in when their creative spark goes out. And “chains” and “pins dropping in the lock”… every writer’s fear of remaining indefinitely in that terrible state.

  7. I love these self-talk kinda short writings.
    There is no stain on it of caring if someone would ever read it. A sweet indifference (which might lead to self-destruction if exceeds)…

    Imagine a broken music box that can heal itself…

  8. And what is real again, a newspaper report?

  9. Everything is constructed. Everything is a construction.

  10. The question for me is: what’s being constructed? and who is doing the constructing? and how restricting is the resultant construction? and to who? and for what purpose?

  11. Sometimes I feel that writer’s merely observe while others are busy living their lives…it eventually leads to questions of what is real and what is unreal…

    You never fail to get me thinking Paul…

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