"she wants to write a thesis on the population underprivileged"

Someone once described me as being a part of the burgeoning student poet scene in Fredericton. I've never felt like I belonged to that scene, not really...in the company of such talent, and then there's me?

Patrick and I went a poetry reading at Molly's last Sunday, and met Ray Fraser, and were just sitting in the back having a good time and then I realize I'm in the same room as Travis Lane. Or the woman who organizes these poetry readings, she encouraged me to bring in something to read for the next reading, since they do open sets after the scheduled reading.

Anyway. Talking about this disconnect between self and "belonging" to a writing scene with Patrick. He made a good point:

I watched a documentary today, sorta a TV show about writers...and they were talking about community, and how there's a definite community, and they're technically a part of it, but none of them feel like they belong in it...we never realize that we're a part of something greater, especially when we're artists, because it's our job to step back and observe"

I'm constantly trying to straddle the world between academia and poetics. It just leaves me feeling as though I'm on the fringes of the fringes, sometimes. But I'm cool with that, I like it best here.

"oh death, why couldn't you have been a maintenance man?"

It's been awhile since I've written here. Real life has a way of creeping in, I think. It seems like every time I sit down to write here, I have something else more productive I should be doing. Even now, I should be writing a Criminology paper, and I'm here, instead.

I'm writing the paper on poetic therapy as an aid for self-injurious youth, though, so maybe this counts as field research.

I feel like sometimes my words start getting away from me, and I have to reign them in. It's been awhile since I've written anything decent, a few weeks or so. Well, at least anything I even vaguely intend for trying to publish. Some things just stay within small circles. I seem to enjoy writing those little snippets for now.

Maybe it's because there's less pressure with them? I still take the time to place my commas where I want them, to rephrase lines, cut them out entirely, shift line breaks...but there's no pressure involved in it.

I should rephrase: I write because I love to write. As of late, though, what I've been writing isn't really anything I want to extend past small groups.

See what I mean about my words getting away from me sometimes? I feel like I can never explain things properly anymore. I tried to explain versification and meter to Patrick last night and just kind of failed miserably. I try to articulate things and just feel like a mockingbird.

A few weeks ago, I was terrified that my depression was coming back full force. After last year, I can't go back to that.

I was published in stuart, our literary journal. I'm pretty sure you all know that. For those of you haven't been able to grab a copy, here's my favourite of the two they chose to publish:


There's a voice that you don't have

so you find it in the sheen, wear it on your own
skin. Sp lit s. Follow the s and carve it out.
worhtless lover,
softer than the boys you always dreamed about.
Ignore the ribcage and the eyes you never met.
some soft of spillage we cry over, pink bath mats and loudquiet.
Teeth:

canine for a reason.