Posts Tagged ‘addiction’


my shame of owning
this brand new iPhone 5S
— reveals my inner
monk/puritan — quite distinct —
a sub-personality

Well, microchip technology is quite something after all. Conversely, I experience a swell of pride that I successfully weaned myself off a mild addiction to Twitter and Facebook (I’ve deleted both). The film Steve Jobs was, for me, a useful prod to the imagination to help grasp just how momentously computers have changed all our lives. Computers somehow engage our emotions whether we like it or not — which is quite some irony given they are totally emotionless themselves. Since a couple weeks ago I now own my first ever brand new iPhone. Prior to that, I had been using my sister’s cast-offs. I dreamed last night that I was holding my iPhone 5S under a stream of running water, trying to wash it clean. Then I realised with a jolt that I was supposed to have waterproofed it first. There was some quite  specific procedure for waterproofing, and I couldn’t for the life of me remember if I’d already carried it out or not. This was an anxiety dream and a wake up call to realise I care far too much about my iPhone! But the poem focuses upon the figure in my own unconscious who seems to be always whispering to me how much better off I would be if I owned nothing at all.



what a mess! — when I
look back over my whole life,
see such a jumble
of unresolved problems — small
wonder I seek an escape!

I want to thank whoever reads and appreciates my stuff online. I have no idea who you are, and very little idea therefore why it is I put my stuff out there. It’s like pissing in the wind. But I’ve decided to resume my blog as from a couple of days ago, and the motivation is very largely a matter of self-disgust for my apparent inability to overcome a pornography addiction. It could be much worse, but still, is bad enough. Rather than wallow in self-hatred I would rather make positive headway writing poetry and processing my dreams. Which after all is the dual purpose of my blog. In this way I provide myself with ongoing evidence that I am not a shit. Or not entirely.

Today’s poem states all this. It lacks any direct reference to what I actually dreamed though. I guess that is a weakness in the poem, but I’m pleased it’s so direct and plain-speaking. One interesting thing in the jumble of images in my dreams last night, is that almost all of them involved some kind of good intention on my part. I decided to wear snowshoes in order not to frighten off a polar bear with the noise of my footsteps. I wanted to befriend a lonely maverick guy. I wanted to thank an uncle of mine for a lesson he’d taught me. I also wanted to get down and dirty with the female consort of the leader of some kind of cult. Not sure how that can be interpreted as a ‘good’ intention. Probably not. Although, relative to what the cult itself actually believed, I was ‘doing the right thing’ by entering totally into the spirit of it.


power — what does it
mean? who gets to wield it? how
find the strength to bear
what it does to a person?
— am I better off helpless?

It’s tempting to conclude that all power is an illusion. Unfortunately you could just as well argue that it’s the only reality, since any attempt to investigate what it is, tends to appear academic next to the phenomenon of power itself. These reflections were provoked by a dream of a middle-aged English teacher (my old teacher from school, an Oxford-educated lady for whom I had great respect and affection) playing Wagner, rather well, on the piano. Whatever kind of intoxication you choose to call it, those who love Wagner to the point of an addiction (I used to be one), are clearly experiencing some kind of power trip.