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bring back the lion

I am not sure why there is sometimes so much build up before writing. It's usually when I am revising/restructuring. The intial writing phases are no pressure/no problem. But getting the structure! There's some anxiety.

And the perrenial questions. Mostly: why do/make this thing called poetry? Is this making doing anyone or anything any "good?" How is writing "good" poetry better than writing "bad" poetry? What effect (if any) does bad poetry have on the world?

Sometimes I feel loaded down with too much intellect. I believe in the intellect. I love the intellect. But sometimes philosophy is a rock in my stomach.

I feel best when the rush happens (as romantic as that is). When the giant swells of sounds invade and bits of philosophy emerge.

I need ferocious. I need ferocious humbling. Violence. Rough strife. Not neglect of the intellect, but a good whipping.

Madness to expel the ego. Not madness as ego as personality as genuis.

I need the lion over the camel.

My lion keeps going into hiding.

Courage.

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Another Ireland: Part Two
Maurice Scully, The Basic Colours. Durham, UK: Pig Press, 1994.
Geoffrey Squires, Landscapes and Silences. Dublin: New Writers' Press, 1996.
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