BEATNIK BEATS ON AFTER NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE

Photoprapher find here

Watching the Super Bowl half-heartedly. Fell into a creative funk for a couple of weeks after DAW rejected Ghoul World, and my poetry manuscript about prostate cancer experience also fell short in two prestigious contests. Of course, those contests were filled with many excellent manuscripts by well known poets. I shouldn't feel so bad, but I thought my writing days were done. Nothing was issuing from my inner sanctum except the sound of silence, but this week, a couple of poems were handed out through the sanctum doors into my conscious brain, and I began to write a memoir for the umpteenth time. I've got some interesting psychological thoughts and insights to share, but I have to deal with the old grouch synaptic self that undermines me at every turn. "What makes you think you've got anything worthwhile to say?" I sent Ghoul World limping out again. Hell, it's only been rejected about 20 times. What's that in the scheme of things? Nothing. And two eight line poems slipped into view from the synaptic self. I really love the eight line form and Hanshan's temperament that I fell in love with. Somewhere in my unconscious self, there exists a hermit in the Chinese mountains.