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where is boredom?

It is raining in London. I am in Kingsbury. At a business school teaching EFL. The job will end next Thursday.

I am searching for jobs again. To survive (shelter and food etc. )

This is a continual process.

In the meantime, I have become bored (temporarily) of poetry.

Perhaps boredom can be a good thing, however.

Getting tired of the same type of poetry being written, or poetry in general.

I guess if it is not interesting to me it is not worth writing (reading). There are better things to do than write/read poetry. Such as interacting with friends (not virtually). Eating some curry with friends. Having a BBQ with friends.

I guess I want those worlds of writing and the everyday to come closer to together. I write to awake! To pay attention.

I guess that is why the NY school has been the most influential for me (and some of the beats). It allows the poetry to enter my life rather than be removed for further study.  It is not a specialized activity.

I am trying hard to be a generalist. To be humane. Interactions are the most important thing to me, not ideas. At least not all the world's abstract ideas/philosophies. Whatever the utopian dream. I guess in that sense I prefer the empiricism of Buddhism. The down to earth pacticality. I am most interested in easing my suffering and the suffering of others. How much of that suffering is based on our choices which originate in the mind/state?

OR

How did I get here?

I am not fond of this rain today.

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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.
Catherine Walsh, Idir Eatortha and Making Tents. London: Invisible Books, 1996.

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