Unfounded jealousy and rage

Time! I wish I had an infinite amount; but without limitations it would be as precious. Perhaps the lack of time compels us to make use of it better. I'm more often squandering my time than filling it with productive things. I imagine that all the time i spend scrolling through Instagram I could be writing or commenting on other people's stuff.

I should be doing more of it. I went through and voted for people, but couldn't focus my attention enough to come up with a comment worthy of making beyond, "well done." Which if you know me, from my previous writings, I'm not a fan of the empty praise. i want it to be specific and direct.

I read @geekorner's post about giving critique, and a bit of his poetry thing where they talk about their works. I guess it is making progress; deepend finally wrote a part of the poem i could understand. I can't remember the name of it but it was very good for the four lines in the beginning, and like a beginner struggling against habit he dove back into obscurity and frustrated me beyond my ability to stay focused. I mention this because I am scornful of their attempts and I have no reason to be. I'm annoyed by their circle-jerk blundering that pumps out bad poetry in their echo chamber of mediocrity. Yet, they're flooded with votes and "cash" and comments about how wonderful their stuff is. I'm jealous! I'm jealous! Yes! I'm a loner outsider huddled in my couch with blankets like armor frightened of joining in the celebratory circle. Instead I want to drop my efforts on the adoring masses like they are grateful I even entertain the effort to share my work with them and their fawning should flower wealth and praise on my haughty well deserving feet.

Look, I know it is ridiculous, and I acknowledge it. I've no right to hate on other people's efforts. They're attempting to blunder their way through writing and poetry, they have the time and the money to do it; more power to them. I should be happy that they are doing something to further poetry in today's climate. I know that poetry is effectively dead to the masses. I think I rail more against the pig-headed dedication to obscurity and abstraction they seem to roll in like mud slapping it over their verse like the anti-social blankets I cling to.

My rage stems from jealousy and feeling left out; but I've not taken any steps to lend my time, effort, and opinion unless it is self-serving. I have no right to this anger. So i encourage them to continue, to grow, persist, and with all hopeful endeavors I wish them improvement in the journey.

This morning I busted out 2000 words in an hour for Leta and Matteo's story. She worked up the courage after the graduation party to go over to Matteo's house. He let her in, and they'll have a brief episode where she kisses him, and he freaks out and shoves her out the door. They're in the one-step forward, two steps back phase of romance. I was hoping to be done with the book by today, but it is looking like my day won't allow for it, and I'll have to finish it tonight and tomorrow morning. Maybe my next sprint week book will be a little shorter. This one is shaping up to be 20,000 words. A novella!

Congrats go out ot @freeinthought who published a short story about a former detective in the seedy part of town! I missed that! I'll be reading that later today and am excited to see his prose. Keep up the efforts and good work. Further pruning the "follows" so I can make sure I see everyone's effort. Perhaps we'll build a circle of our own and tribally we can collectively raise the banner of imagism against the swelling hordes of obscurity and abstraction.