I should probably have said yesterday that when I talked about writing for and about others, I did not so much mean writing about the lives of other’s than I meant writing about thinks I find adimirable in some people within my life.
I once messaged with this guy I had met on Tinder who had to force me to tell him why I had swiped right and kept talking to him. It was absolutely terrifying, reveal to other person what I found enchanting about them. It’s also the best thing ever, to hear and also to gift (whenever you get over the terror of revealing something scary as that.)
As for me, it’s definitely easier to do this in Ireland than back home in Finland, because in Finland the culture has shades where we mean what we say to the extent that usually when we bark something out, you can write it in stone and it won’t change. It’s carefully considered. As for Ireland, it’s much more common to give casual compliments, often and not necessarily with so much meaning. Neither is good or bad, I prefer the latter! Also, if your experience from either country is different, it probably is so.
Ps. Is now a good time to advertise I am part of virtual poetry market, from where you can order a custom poem, to give as a gift at Christmas, for example? Pay what you can, 5-25 € suggested, give a prompt or let me choose one. You can message via email@example.com with the prompt and the email address you wish to receive the poem to & pay via PayPal, paypal.me/jennitiera. Can also do hand-written originals and mail them, in which case I will as you to cover the postage.
I believe there is a magical amount of self-love that is just right so that you can securely share affectionate gestures with people but won’t become a jerk, and that magical amount of self-love is a key toward a better world. The amount of experienced self-loe fluctuates day by day, some of us have it since childhood (secure attachement in attachement theory would be what I mean here) and some learn later. Like everything else, it’s a sphere which overlaps with other spheres of human existence, and if I would ever start a cult it would be about spectrums in regards to everything.
Through healthy amount of self-love we accept and nurture ourselves and others, because ability to feel empathy toward oneself makes it possible to extent the courtesy toward others, as well. Through too much of it, we become self-centered, admiring our own image on the experience of others – we start to think we deserve good things more than others because we are better. And if we have too little self-love, curiously, a similar thing happens – we often become self-involved, and even if we admire others, it’s often in comparison to our poor condition.
I wanted to write about other people today, but I still find it scary because even if it’s good things you say, it’s still stepping into someone else’s world and admitting that I actually see them and enjoy their company. It’s scary because it makes me vulnerable, even when I do fully support daring to spread love through small acts of kindness, random compliments and poems about those who surround you. So, today I wrote a poem about why I didn’t write that poem and what my self feels about that other poem, which I will do tomorrow.
And maybe start the cult. I don’t think I have enough followers to do that.
I sometimes wonder whether I want to be a performing artist or not, because even when I love being on the stage with poetry and will never give that up (you can see some of my performances in Youtube), I’m not much of a fan of that weird lens being up on stage creates, and I definitely don’t really want to take space. But how do you perform without taking space?
This poem was brough together with writing random letters on the shells, writing random words on the shells, throwing these random shells on the floor to create a random order and then I just filled the gaps. Welcome to the party of the sun, we are all invited and most of us don’t behave!
I seem to subconsciously consider November to be my favourite month in Ireland. It appears in quite a few poems, also in those who weren’t written in November but during summer months. I love the silver shades of ocean during winter time, and November is by far the most beautiful combination of pale sun light and cold silver streams. This year, I’m lucky enough to spend the month in Inishmore of all the places -I have practiced a lot of sea-staring lately! This morning also found a very cool bunch of seagulls having a hang-around.
Friendship Softness – blankets, hugs, warm tea from worn-out cups the way you look at me with curious touch Sadness, days when paths turn into streams, brooks and runnels twisting underneath the darkest tunnels through which our raft built from scrap will take us.
Shelter Love – in all shapes and shades, in spruces evergreen in waves which carry those who are ocean-shaped Safety, not every day but in fleeting moments where the unknown purrs and stretches paws settles in front of the fire’s warmth.
Adventure Collision with the strangest people upon edges of the Earth sunset bonfires, clinking glasses, Courage to become a part of this world Today.
I love working with different mediums, and I love singing. I’m also terrified of singing, because I have far too many times been told I can’t sing – which is not the whole truth. I am actually a decent singer whenever I’m not afraid. But I’m sure you can see the vicious circle there.
Today, I wanted to look at skin and seashells – again – and if this little project should go further, I’d love to explore the revelations when people get to know each other more through images and words of skins bursting open. The risk of letting close is so intriguing.
Anyway, today the poem is a video. A song. A poem. You decide. All done in a three hours, filmed and edited and recorded with a smartphone.
I’ve been lucky enough to get grants as an emerging artist, and my work has been shortlisted and published, but the amount of rejections compared to the amount of succesfull submissions is sometimes quite soul-crushing. Like on a Monday when you get two rejections on the same day from things which matter and you feel like screaming pick me, pick me, I am good enough for this but you make me feel like I am not.
Due to this, there’ll be no new poem for day number seven, since I firmly believe in feeling shite when you feel shite to get through it. Let’s be devasted and disappointed (and yes, I know this too shall pass, don’t worry) and read a combination of notes from my phone:
I think I have a bruise on my tongue from talking too much?
Aimee calls me brave for going alone Yet I have no courage to let anyone close.
As soon as the waves swallowed her I reached out As soon as the moon spit –
Do your fucking job I wish I had a fucking job repeat I have nowhere to go tomorrow
I guess we always thought we were the good guys
Van Gogh gets fun when you touch it and wait for security.
Juurihoidossa Hyvin konkreettista Sit ku on hyvin sekaisin Juurihoito on ihan jees Juurruttavaa
Haluaisin lausua rakkausrunoa vaan olut maistuu liian kauniilta Ota aikaa Mulla ei oo kiire mihinkään
Junat eivät nykyisin pysähdy enää missään ne kulkevat vain eteenpäin