Tags
2011, 5*, awareness, being, frustration, identity, life, living, pointlessness, reality, sitting, talking to myself
pointless
everything is pointless
I can see
the pointlessness in everything
I don’t chose to
it just seeps through everything
quietly
makes a fool of me
just when I was getting a foothold
there is never anything
I can feel good about
there is nothing by which
I can define myself
nothing I can’t see through nothing that won’t
show me up
this is my reality: no intrinsic reality
to play to, to play in;
this is my reality
this is me; I should exploit it fully
by not hoping that here
is where I can find myself
the point is
that there is no point
to HAVE
the struggle
is in worrying that the point
cannot be found
the salvation is
in the relaxing with there being
no point
really
really and truly there is nothing to do
but to sit
still in the reality of there being
no point
————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–
awareness & life & sitting wormhole: some steps
being & pointlessness wormhole: both
identity wormhole: stop
living & talking to myself wormhole: gulp // spout // and recede
reality wormhole: the very gradual / practice of sitting
mlewisredford 
Exactly no point. No ”yourself”. Continuous gathering and dissociation. Thank you for expressing so clearly 🙂
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shared, my dear omrum, shared
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so let’s keep dancing…let’s break out the booze, and have a ball…if that’s all…
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‘dancing’: yes – you’re free, you’re free, there’s no point, just the dance!; ‘break out the booze’: no – it’s expensive, it’s expensive and it runs away from no point into a small cloud
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It was a nod to an old Peggy Lee song… even as a little kid hearing that (in her vodka voice) I felt that dread you’ve written about…
I wanna know how your poem doesn’t sound like release as much as a trappist monk’s WTF
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all I know about Peggy Lee is: pinched toes and grimace-smile in black heels, and the best (still) version of ‘Fever’ (b-dhm) ‘what a lovely way to burn …’
… thing is it probably doesn’t sound like your monk-friend because I just haven’t learnt to sit with it (the pointlessness, the emptiness) – usually some pop song on my mind (at the moment it’s ‘The Nightfly’ by Donald Fagen), which makes it tantalising rather than released
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Yep. Pointless and beautiful all the same, even beauty in the blah of it all. In fact, somehow the pointlessness makes it more beautiful to me. Strange…
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… but true
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