Yeah, I know, I've already posted a lot in the last hour or so - but hey, bare with me alright? This is neither poetry, news, an amusing picture or some odd meme or quiz that I've blatantly stolen from a friends (or a friend of a friends) LJ!
An actual post? Well yeah, sort of....
I was rereading a number of poems from my 'Cry To Me' collection this evening (which contains both 'Welcome To My Mind' and 'Perfume & Wine' which I posted earlier). Two thirds of 'Cry To Me' was written in the summer of 1995 through to early 1996 - with the rest scattered from earlier works dating back to 1990.
1995 was a very difficult year for me. It was a year in which I sometimes wondered if I'd live to see 1996. I really was uncertain of my future. Angela and myself split up in June but I had been very unhappy for months before that. Not because of Angela - Angela was very much my one anchor keeping me vaguely sane and in one piece.I was incredibly unhappy in the place where I was living. One of the housemates was a nightmare to the extent that I found every conceivable excuse not to be home until after she'd gone to bed. One of my other housemates (there were four of us) also couldn't stand her with a passion (that feeling was returned tenfold) and actually moved out a month or two early to get away and still paid rent (and then got screwed over by her when she started going through his mail and returning his benefit cheques). The fourth person in the house was her boyfriend who was so nice no one knew why he stuck with her. But I digress....
I am convinced that if Angela and myself had carried on going out we would have had kids by now and possibly even be married. I'd certainly have learnt to drive and would be a slave to a mortgage company somewhere. My life would certainly have been a lot different than it has been for the last nine years.
Angela and I were deeply in love. Probably the most 'in love' I have ever been. I'd come close to it before but that person had been my first 'real' girlfriend and I was too experimental to want to settle down. I have been 'in love' since but the pain of splitting up with Angela has always made me hold something back in every relationship I've had since. No way did I want to get so close to That edge again.....
When Angela left me I was distraught. Combining the loss of someone I deeply loved with my then living environment was a rather explosive combination. Many of my friends of the time weren't sure what I'd do. One thing I did do was take out a £5,000 loan, get a credit card and quit work. I had decided to 'go travelling' to reconsider my life and think about my future - if I had one. I remember going clubbing as a 'farewell' with some friends who were genuinely worried that this would the last time they saw me - apart from possibly an inch in some backwater papers editorial reporting my death. I do feel very sorry for what I put a number of very close friends through at that time. But I had to deal with it and really didn't know of any otehr way than escaping from London and everything that I knew for a while.
Poetry was something that I'd always been writing. As a kid, as a teenager, as an adult. In many ways my last great productive years where 95 thru 96. Since then I've hardly written any at all. Whereas once I was writing literally hundreds of poems every year I probably only wrote about ten in 2003 and have written less than that this year so far. Part of this collapse is time, part is tiredness, a lot has to do with not necessarily wanting to think too much. Something I can probably be accused of for a number of years now. I tend to hide much of myself away and my poetry was always an extension of my self. Many of my poems were transplanting me into 'imaginary' situations which I'd never been in myself but all of them still held parts of me. Everything came from within and at a time when I was trying to repress (or ignore) myself poetry was one of the last things I needed to be writing.
I sometimes wish I could go back to writing more but I guess part of me is worried, or afraid, of unlocking that part of my hidden self again. I know that I'm not as happy and content as I should be with life right now. I haven't really been since Delphine and myself decided to part company a few years ago (which did result in a slight peak in the old poetry production rate...). I'm not sure who I'd be if I did open that doorway and step on through. Would it make me happier? Maybe, maybe not. Would it make those around me happier? I doubt it as I'd no doubt hurt some of those who love me at present - and I don't want to do that.
Music has always inspired me and been central to my life. I love the way it can influence your emotions, I love the way it can make me move on the dancefloor. It's ability to make me loose myself and merge with its rythmn, its beats, the words. I feel the same about poetry and I love the way that my own poetry can sometimes make me, and others, feel. I love generating an emotion from people. Playing with emotion through the use of words. Poetry, music, fiction....they are all power mediums. I really should turn back and embrace them properly again one day and damn the consequences. Maybe I will, maybe I won't.
What's the point of this post? I'm not entirely sure. I felt I needed to write it. 1995 was a bad year for me. In another way it was amazing. Afterall I spent five months of it in love with Angela which I'll never forget. I also experienced blowing the best part of £7,000 in about three months which was rather self-destructive but also full of memories which I can look back on. I also survived it. I made my way through the rest of 1995 and then started rebuilding my life. It had new protective barriers placed firmly around it for sure, but it was my life. Is my life. One day those barriers may come down. Delphine certainly helped me incredibly. In the last year Belinda, who has been one of my closest ever friends in terms of knowing whats behind the barriers, has helped me explore some very dark places that were very firmly locked away.
Those barriers are still there but with the right people they begin to become less.
I want my poetry back. We'll see if this happens though. Life goes on.