Tuesday, March 31, 2009

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

I have always been rasped by the banal. But how can that be? I am one of the bourgeois manque, defective, never having achieved what I might have, certainly never having met my own expectations. I spend too much of my time repining after the lost and gone. It's a fugitive pain, now here, now not, but always that stab of longing and regret.

Thomas Mann mentions the bliss of the commonplace. The seductive beauty of innocent bliss, even the seduction of the banal. I feel sorrow for my loss of naivete-- but that seems so commonplace too--nostalgic, if you will.

I know my writings are deeply felt--by me--but they are, sadly, inept.