September 23, 2014



From my near perfect disaster solitude
I wonder what might be possible
when it comes to interacting
with others, I continue to try my best
but feel all such interactions
are like little gusts of wind
that come from nowhere and go nowhere
never enough to fill a sail
yes, this is about loneliness
but also, no, it is not about loneliness
often I confuse loneliness and ethics
how to treat others well gets confused
with how to fully engage
solitude against solidarity, longing
for solidarity
I think: if you don’t know how
to be alone you don’t know how
to be with others
then: this must be the point, that
I don’t know how to be alone
don’t know how to be with others
everything that is true is also not true
trying to find something honest and vulnerable
trying to be something honest and vulnerable
trying to find the right lie


1 comment:

zoe greenberg said...

This reminds me that loneliness is a form of movement. The sensation of ambiguity as it enters my body. It heralds an unconquerable dynamism. I like that it’s painful. Not masochism; more like childbirth, a kind of pain the body is meant to bear. I don’t expect it to leave me, I don’t want to banish it. Others are often straightforward. We were raised to understand that it’s fair to contribute and be responsible. Our labor, our presence, sometimes our essence is required. Giving feels amazing when it’s returned. Skin-to-skin contact is essential. Intersubjectivity is an unavoidable certainty. Loneliness refuses this exchange. When the simplicity of solitude crosses over into something angrier. Loneliness makes the demands of others a mystery, a spectacle. I am once again omnipotent; others are negated; the dogma of the group is made comical. I am an observer with no convictions. This distance provokes my infinitely productive anguish. The pain of it is the price I pay for insisting on my own company.
A woman must endure tremendous loneliness if she is to write.