STAR**** **OOP**S: A Surreal Space Poetry Project – Page 9

Thanks to Teg for helping with the image!

cybernetic
junk
bits
pieces
confusing
naked
panic
doubled up
face down
night
below
shining
flash
burned
fired
shock(ed)
floated
free
good enough

 

The words on this page made me think of cyberpunk and that made me think of Bladerunner and the poem sort of wrote itself at that point.
The words on this page made me think of cyberpunk and that made me think of Bladerunner and the poem sort of wrote itself at that point.

 

Breathe. Then Write

I suppose the idea is to get over the fear of writing. An empty screen is a terrifying thing to face. But, all you can do for it is to fill it up. Don’t have any ideas? Don’t think any of your story arcs or characters are worth committing to zeroes and ones? Too many donts can keep you from doing anything. Keep you from writing, keep you from going out of your house, keep you from ever getting out of bed. It’s okay, you do those things (I hope you do) and you can do this thing too.

Breathe.

Set aside the words in your head that are crushing you. Set aside the words in your head that keep harping that you don’t have anything worth saying. You have stories, you have tales, you have characters, you’re practically overflowing with them. What you don’t have is confidence. You won’t get it just sitting there.

Distracted.

The internet isn’t going to get your work done. I know it’s hard to believe after spending hours on it, how could nothing have been accomplished? You feel so tired, as if work has been done. And you have so much to show for it! Data, information, news, trivia,the fact that echidnas have a four-headed penis, the theory that this universe is just one of many trapped in an intricate ten dimensional multi-universe that all might be nothing more than a simulation on a computer somewhere (the computer may also be a simulation?!) What you don’t have is any writing. You haven’t worked.

So, write.

You just need to write. Slowly, ever so slowly the white on the screen diminishes. Words appear one after the other. After another. You’re going to need sentences to keep them all together. Write more. Soon the sentences piling on top of each other. Keep going. Then, there are paragraphs holding your sentences together. Don’t stop. You’ll soon find yourself needing pages to hold your paragraphs and chapters to hold your pages, a book for all your pages. And, you’re done. Like that. Until, you have to do it again.

Time later for making sense of what you wrote. Time later for editing. Time later for plot, protagonists, antagonists, meaning, moral, movement, conflict, pace, etc., etc…

It all starts with the same blank screen. And, the terror of filling it with something. Breathe. Breathe and write.

 

 

For more thoughts on writing:

The Fear of Writing or Holding onto Dreams

 

STAR**** **OOP**S: A Surreal Space Poetry Project – Page 8

Thanks to Teg for helping with the image!

The seconds follow

Faster

They get under you, throw you.

Confusion, yours

Is firm.

It lasts long, and longer

And,

Then it’s gone.

 

Now you have

Nothing.

Unable to decide.

Without reflection,

Without company.

 

No help gained

By staying.

 

Cut the straps and

See.

Its a scanned page!
This poem has a person! And they’re not dying. Though they may feel as if they are. The pressures and anxieties of life can seem like worse than death at times. It doesn’t really seem to matter who you are or what class you happen to be a part of. It’s part of being human. Letting go of the fact that you’re finite both spatially and temporally is terrifying. It’s also freeing…

STAR*** **OOP**S: A Surreal Space Poetry Project – Page 7

Thanks to Teg for helping with the image!

The planet

Punched, blown

Out,

Dispersed.

 

The atmosphere

Down. Near

Zero

 

Burned away.

Burned off.

The sky?

Junk.

No people in this one and nothing dying. Just a blasted planet. Was it too close to it’s own sun? Did it’s atmosphere get caught up by a interstellar object travelling across it’s orbit? Did something terrible happen there long ago? Who knows… rock and stone never reveal their secrets.

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