the beauty of words, tarnished by pinheads

I was going to talk about sadness today, a bit of a perk up after last times orgy of woe and self indulgence.

But before I could crack open a word document and let all the pain and contrived suffering spray out over it like a blubbering hot mess, I made the error of googling “sad”, and now you get to treat yourself to this little rant and rave instead.

Why the fuck do people write poetry when they can’t freaking well do it?

I hate poetry as much as the next person. Most of the time I don’t get it, and it’s not because I’m lacking in the artistic integrity and depth of the knowledge of the self to fully appreciate what some tortured soul has ripped from the depth of their disturbed psyche. No, it’s because it’s shit.
But of course, no ‘poet’ would ever admit that. No. It’s your fault for being too corrupt and shallow minded to appreciate the complexity of their creation.

How many idiots will you meet throughout your lifetime who claim to be poets and use that as an all expenses paid excuse card for ever single display of arrogance, selfishness and laziness?

Poetry is a damned difficult thing to write. When it’s done well by someone who knows what the fuck they are doing, it can be art. It can be words weaving a picture together, evoking emotion, creating deep, profound meaning and raising questions. A good poem has the ability to inspire shivers. A good poem takes the incredibly complexities of language and puts them on a silver platter to be admired by all.

There is more going on in a poem, in other words, then the emotions of the poet. You need more then a feeling to create art.

But so many people seem to have conveniently overlooked that. And they’re all living on the internet.

When it comes to creating things, I have a “motto” of sorts.
You’re going to dig up a lot of rocks before even coming close to the gold.
I fully understand and acknowledge that 99.99% of what I write is utter crap. The 0.01% that isn’t hasn’t been written yet, probably hasn’t even been conceived yet. So everything you produce isn’t going to be a masterpiece, but this is how you practice and get better and experiment with ideas so that when that rare masterpiece does eventually come along, you’ll be able to recognize it and treat it with dignity.
In other words, you need to not be put off by the rocks, but keep on digging. And you can’t expect that nugget of gold to be easy to find.

A problem I have with amateur poets is that they are most often the ones who dig up rocks and try to pass them off as gold. They spew out some crap and call it art then take offense when the world doesn’t treat it as such.

If you are a poet or any kind of writer or artist and I have offended you, then I’m sorry. And by all means keep on writing. As much as I hate it, I don’t think poets should completely stop.
I am saying however, that it’s important to know a rock when you see one. Get it out of the way and keep digging. You’ll hit your gold soon enough.

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