Friday, April 17, 2015

Seventeen: Lights, Passion --

Yesterday, I went to see my niece be a part of a guitar ensemble.  I watched her parts and then left not wanting to see the others.  I felt slightly bad, but this happens all the time at Poetry readings if there are more than one person featured.  People will leave to only see who they want to see and then leave -- not everyone thought -- just some.

I keep thinking this.

Is this just a constant circle of the same people reading, listening, and reading some more.  The answer is yes.  The answer is no as well.

Yes -- it seems odd but I've been part of the poetry scene here for the last five years and it's always the same drama, the same readers, the same listeners and nothing much changes.  People come and go and that is what changes.  People leave but a core remains the same.

Does this core means that they are passionate or too used to routine?

I'm scared that I'm too used to the lights -- that warm sensation that actually someone is indeed looking at me.  It's easy to grow complacent when the lights are on you.

But passion, passion -- the type that can get me through the day is what I want to keep going.  I'm not the smartest guy, the strongest writer, the deepest thinker, or the most passionate.  I think that I'm a worker -- that's it -- that keeps me going.  Passion at first touch -- I wish.  It's more of passion over time.  Burn out.

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