I must stop reading Pessoa...
thoughts from summer 2003
by Kristen Byrne
Perhaps words contain less meaning, become too tired
to hold hope for those who release them into the open
sky, praying that when they hit ground, they'll make some
sort of impact not different from destruction.
Sometimes I feel myself growing more and more visual,
and because of this, more and more abstract.
Words are concrete, in the least, in their very nature.
The printed word has such immense finality
that it becomes another accomplishment.
Even when spoken, the speaker lets go of any responsibility
after the words are said. He can merely walk away
as if he spoke nothing at all.
I always wanted to change my reality, but am starting to
realize that I had been wanting the wrong thing all along-
because it is an impossibility. This is my reality-
this world, this sky, this train gliding with such ease
because it follows a system of order on which everything
is based. But just because this is it, I should not feel
compelled to alter it- to match my musings-
because how horrible would that be- to never learn,
to never be given the chance to laugh
at all the great absurdities.
And to laugh at myself, at this very moment,
for relying on old, persistent thoughts as something
fresh, a new revelation.