One Hundred and Counting

I suppose I owe you all (or just owe myself?) a journal entry, if for no other reason than to commemorate this grand occasion: reaching 100 followers for my journal/poetry blog! I know it’s just a number, and I definitely shouldn’t start trying to measure some rating of “success,” but it feels like a little milestone despite all of that. Thanks to those of you who have put up with me since 2013, and to those who are just climbing on board: these are interesting times we live in.

I feel like maybe a recap is in order, a little summary to help guide you through the tangles and knots in this thread. It might give you some idea of who this Lord Rumfish person is, and with a little luck I might even drop back below 100 followers (I never said it would be good luck).

NOTEWORTHY TRAITS

1. Creative. Whether for good or ill, whether talented or lackluster, I just can’t stop creating things. This tends towards writing and gaming (many various forms of both), although recently I have been dipping into fashion, and even thinking about interior decorating/design and how the mundane spaces around the house could be given an artsy facelift.

2. Quixotic. I am a hopeless romantic, a defender of lost causes, and in many ways a somewhat ridiculous human being. Somehow I manage to balance this with other traits, including logical analysis. Humans are so conflicted and nonsensical.

3. Open-Minded. This stands in for a lot of other labels, things like “bisexual” or “independent voter” or “agnostic” or whatever. Part of having an open mind is challenging your comfort zone every so often; it doesn’t have to be all the time, but you’ve got to practice what you preach.

4. Depressed. Even though I try to see the world through rose-colored lenses, I have grappled with depression my entire life (I have had other diagnoses at other points in my life, such as Tourette’s Syndrome as a child, and social anxiety when I was in high school). It saps my energy, makes me sleep too much, and colors my worldview. If you are curious, I am unmedicated.

WHAT THIS IS

This is my poetry journal, my journal/poetry, my… somewhat-edited thought stream. I let my hair down here, but maybe not quite all the way. I have used this forum to discuss politics, economics, philosophy, dreams, my life (obviously), psychedelic rock, and whatever other interests motivate me such as writing, gaming, or edible wild plants. It’s a hodge-podge of stuff, not consistently one thing or another; on a good day, the “typical” entry would have a journal-y bit, and then a break for a poem that might be related to the journal writing.

WHERE I AM NOW

I am in the midst of a confusing and burgeoning romance that pretty well defies normality. All kinds of feelings are wrapped up in it, and I cannot go into prose detail; I’m likely to write a lot more poems and a lot less prose for that reason. If you like poetry about love, in particular messy forbidden love, then you’ve come to the right place. I’ve also been experimenting recently with psychedelic imagery and beat poetry. With any luck I’ll also feel inspired at some point soon to talk about my eternal disgust for Herr Trump, and the impending nuclear winter that will make everything else pointless.

For old times’ sake, here’s a poem.

Half a page, half a page,
Half a page onward,
All in the volley of Dearth
Wrote the one hundred.
“Foreword, the Lord Rumfish!
Charge for the words!” he said.
Into the volley of Dearth
Wrote the one hundred.

“Foreword, the Lord Rumfish!”
Was there a man who wished?
Not though the headline knew
Someone had blundered.
Theirs ought to make reply,
Theirs ought to reason why,
Theirs not to do and die.
Into the volley of Dearth
Wrote the one hundred.

Canon to right of them,
Canon to left of them,
Canon in front of them
Follied and sundered;
Stormed at with bot and sell,
Boldly they wrote and well,
Into the jowls of Dearth,
Into the hair from hell
Wrote the one hundred.

Flashed all their egos bare,
Flashed as they razzed an heir
Needling the gun-nuts there,
Heckling an army, while
All the world shuddered.
Plunged in the mirrors-and-smoke
Right through the lies they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reeled from the hairpiece bloke
Nattered and guttered.
Then they wrote back, but not
Not the one hundred.

Canon to right of them,
Canon to left of them,
Canon behind them
Follied and sundered;
Stormed at with bot and sell,
While Truth and hero fell.
They that had fought so well
Came through the jowls of Dearth,
Back from the hair from hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of one hundred.

When can this gory facade
Ease off from Leningrad!
All the world wondered.
Honour the razz they made!
Honour Rumfish’s page,
Noble one hundred!

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