I must Remember to Breathe
Forgot what I wanted to say for today. The thread of a conversation is misplaced. At one point the statement existed as strong evidence, explanation of character. • As for the now moment: a large pillar of anger emerges. I almost do not want to dwell on the negative energy—the rage circles, a rage built up from little incompetencies, the lack of attention to detail— at Brendan’s school the teaching assistants misplaced his brand new winter coat… or allowed someone to take it off the school grounds— all in this heavy winter, temperatures close to freezing. • For the folktale poems, the Boy-Hero:
First person narration about the epiphany, the moment of transformation which transports the character to a higher level, from beneath the canopy of an ancient magnolia, Spanish moss, large nocturnal blossoms the size of dinner plates— a moment detailed by what it is not: a moment without angels or holy intervention, just a realization— this after the voices, the sidestories from Fox, Grackle, and She-Bear. Retain a lack, however, a lack of narration from an authoritative voice, an overseer of action. Limited grounding is fine.
• Revisit Seamus Heaney’s Sweeney Astray.
How much of Sweeney's madness is a result of anger as opposed to mental instability? Consider the passionate rage.
Image from: University of Cambridge
The full force of the storm in the head. Rational thoughts misplaced. Moment of weakness, moment of anger. The face pulsing with blood, possessed by a demon. Shakespeare's Caliban. Or King Lear. Righteous anger turned within itself into something monstrous. — or alternatively foolish. —or lack of air, turning the body pale-blue.
Even now I feel remnants of the anger lifting from the pit of my stomach. So, I must remember to breathe. Focus on something else. I want to sleep tonight and not fume or stress over the uncontrollable.
— a moment detailed by what it is not: a moment without angels or holy intervention
First person narration about the epiphany, the moment of transformation which transports the character to a higher level, from beneath the canopy of an ancient magnolia, Spanish moss, large nocturnal blossoms the size of dinner plates— a moment detailed by what it is not: a moment without angels or holy intervention, just a realization— this after the voices, the sidestories from Fox, Grackle, and She-Bear. Retain a lack, however, a lack of narration from an authoritative voice, an overseer of action. Limited grounding is fine.
How much of Sweeney's madness is a result of anger as opposed to mental instability? Consider the passionate rage.
The full force of the storm in the head. Rational thoughts misplaced. Moment of weakness, moment of anger. The face pulsing with blood, possessed by a demon. Shakespeare's Caliban. Or King Lear. Righteous anger turned within itself into something monstrous. — or alternatively foolish. —or lack of air, turning the body pale-blue.
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