Initially devised with two parts (I – Lethimos Camerata and II – Moratorium), I’ve decided to make Moratorium the first part of Canto III, as not to over-saturate this already emotionally-heavy composition. This one, although deserving of a better construction, was very hard to compose, hence the time it took to execute; What may seem simple at first sight, as in, a victim of sexual abuse in Greeces old customs of pederasty claiming his own control over such enacted violence (a storyline I had constructed long-ago, as to inter-connect with many other elements of the story), also holds a necessary and integral part of my own life. How may we cope with what was forcefully taken from us? Well, I do not know, I’m still in a path of surviving myself; but I do know I must validate my own pain, and feel it in its most tangible form — a mass replacing that which has been taken. For
So, bear with me here; I know it’s not great, but I was mashing my brain against this first Canto without any true necessity. Poems like these require a certain heaviness I cannot fully achieve (just yet), my poetry still draws much from my own levity as a person. That being said, the form is still ridiculously volatile, and I apologise for that. So far, The Shades are mostly lyrical, Cocytus is mostly expositive and Luriam is mostly confessional. I would like to keep it that way, but still need to work on their cohesion and how the styles transition. Regardless, if you have any tips, I’m all ears!
Thank you for reading!
Going through a bit of an ideological crisis, hence the erratic nature of my compositions. I promise to do better as I regain my normal self, but for now, I can think of really great themes and then execute them only partially. It’s this sort of memory blockage, I suppose. JOHNNY P.S: I wrote this while listening to Max Richter’s “The Blue Notebooks“, a beautiful collection of contemporary classical compositions inspired by Kafka‘s work. I will do these musical mentions more often, I enjoy sharing what I love, maybe you can love it as I do.
Today, I e-published my first title and a wave of terror washed over me. I do not feel quite ready for it. I’m an admirer of so many, and I don’t feel worthy of having people purchase my book just yet. It’s just not something I feel okay with, due to my inexperience and general inadequacy. Still, I feel like I’ve created something special in this humble manuscript. Something worth reading, but not necessarily commercialising. As such, I will un-publish the book and open it to reading in this post, in PDF format, free-for-all. I will, however, also provide a donate button bellow, may you decide I’m worthy of such honour and trust (you decide the amount). What I receive will be used for the purposes previously mentioned – maintaining the website and eventually, a groovy poetry-chilling podcast. Thank you, and sorry. True Ultra – The Book
As a lot of content is getting shaved from the book of Selected Poetry, most of my author notes are getting removed and replaced with prose. Hours of wasted work, but no matter, that’s how these things go. I will post some of those I feel worse about deleting, so they won’t dissipate into the void. Sorry for the huge resolution, comes straight from book format. JOHNNY
Our planet is suffering a great deal, and I worry. Our little blue-marble deserves better.
Following the string of compositions from when I initially started posting, you might sight some of the most primitive and uninspired works of web-poetry around, and along those lines of frozen time, you might even find a generally negative disposition I have towards my work, as well as a strong hostility directed at my own artistic development. I believe, albeit probably wrong, that any artist of any craft holds little to no love for a product that is finished, because its the process and the journey that must be loved and nurtured, and the final result: an outburst of pain compounded with shame, a linen woven by acid needles that thrust with every line, every paintbrush and every note of a melody. It is natural to hold hatred towards our own creations, not necessarily because they are parts of ourselves we shed into a piece, but because they are willingly given away and lost, they are mirrors within mirrors and
I know the last poem and this one are a bit weird and off-tracks for me. Do not be alarmed, I’m tinkering with new sound constructions for “ofuscus“, the sister structure to “excelse“, but since I’m just starting, it’s mostly an exploration of how variant I can make them sound without sacrificing much of both. These are mostly free-hand practices that allow me to gage and compare. Author’s notes: Line 12 is a reference to the book of the same name, “Heights of Despair”, by Emil Cioran. Highly advise you to seek it if you enjoy some grim phylosophy. Line 1 is a reference to a song, all my compositions have at least one of these, sometimes more. In this case, it is “Odd Look” by french musician Kavinsky. Line 17 might look a bit weird, Child is the symbol, while intrumental pain is the syntax. This is done purposefully, but the Child himself won’t appear just here, that’s why