Poets aren't the only ones who wage war over gardens. They're just the most articulate.
— JΛSΞ (@JaseMiller) May 1, 2015
I’ve often heard that “administrators” and “creatives” are different points on a spectrum, but I’ve experienced the nightmare of the administrative creative and the creative administrator.
On a dreary, unmotivated day like today in Chicago, my creativity seems to pour itself into task lists. Not getting things done, mind you. Creating tasks lists. Adding to them. Dreaming up sub-tasks of sub-tasks. Nightmare.
This very post is an attempt to break out of this cycle by calling it what it is. While drinking espresso. One of these two activities should break the cycle, right?
Actually, nothing breaks this kind of cycle like laughter, and that seems hard to find on such a rainy day. If you know what I mean, post a joke or something below…
The following is a poem I sketched out. I’m sharing publicly to invite feedback as I work to hone this toward a final version. Please comment.
Cascades of coffee suppress sleep
While the cadence of your voice hammers
my mind in harsh, unrelenting strokes.
You nail the Real, catch the communicative
in the act—but then Mjölnir’s battery fades.
The riddle of the Real, you end, resolves in love,
but there’s no use beginning at the end.
Yet our ends are always beginnings,
and what abides in both is th’Eternal.
Steeled hammers thread loops
that tangle us in perception,
weaving words around the Real.
Piano hammers strike soft pianissimo
at the real presence of love that cuts through
our steely wordwires obscuring God.
God is love, and Love the first and last—
and also the hammer. Jesus is
the All in Alright, the Way in Always—
and the lightning behind the Almighty Arm
that wields the Wordhammer.
Whether speaking or acting or going or being,
we’re compelled by and to
Reality resolves itself in love.
— JΛSΞ (@JaseMiller) April 24, 2015