But not today!
The first half of the term we were doing poetry (first term it was fiction and creative nonfiction). Now, poetry is quite an uncharted territory to me. At least it was six weeks ago. I’ve grown to understand and like it a lot more during that time. Still, the first things we learned about poetry are the ones I remember best:
1. Most poetry you’ll write is bad.
2. Most poetry ever written is bad.
3. There is no money to be made in poetry.
Considering all that, and the fact that I’ve never felt the need to release the poems trapped inside me, I’d say that poet is not a career path I’m considering.
My favourite class activity concerning poetry writing was cut-up technique. As you’ve possibly gathered from my blog, I love cutting out inspiring pictures and creating collages. I was surprised to find out I really enjoy doing the same with words. Print out a poem, cut it into pieces, and rearrange them into another one – easy.
I also tried it with the written warning I’d received from the University Accommodation from not having cleaned the kitchen one morning, but sadly I couldn’t make it work.
Anyway, this week we started a new section: performing writing. Again, something I had no real interest in (radio, stand-up, poetry slams, rituals and all that), but again, unbelievable how thrilling the seminar was! What I’ve heard of the tutor is that he will tell you if your work is shit and he does make people cry, which I’m not particularly looking forward to, but I suppose it’s something you need to get used to in this business. Or in any business.
The activity we did was something I’d heard of before, and feared: having to write non-stop (whatever comes in your head, just don’t let the pen leave the page) – while counting backwards from 100. It makes your two brain sides work in opposition, bringing you close to writing in trance, and thus coming up with ideas that you never knew you had in you. Theoretically. And it worked for some people. They had chaos on their pages, sentences that might as well have been written in a drug haze, words they simply didn’t understand. I, on the other hand put all my effort in blocking out the numbers we were saying out loud together. And it worked, resulting in a simple normal text. Talk about boring!
That is so typical of me. It’s the notion of losing control that is just never an option in my case. Even with drinking, I have only had one experience when the situation was out of my hands and my always-in-place public image had been dropped somewhere on the icy streets of Tallinn. And even then, with chunks of the night missing from my memory, I do remember thanking and apologising to whoever those people were who were looking after me. And I remember the embarrassment I was feeling. Which has pretty much disappeared now, because why else would I keep telling people about that. I suppose a part of me is proud that I finally have a proper drunken story to tell. Everyone has something concerning getting into fights, throwing up on bouncers, being arrested or the like. Mine measures up alright, I think, because it includes being called an ambulance and ending up getting stitches.
With the exception of that one infamous time, I am virtually unable to let go of control. Just ask my friends. Most of them will probably think they’ve never seen me drunk.
And I can't decide if it's a gift or a personality flaw I should be trying to overcome.
Good song (not really relatable, though).
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