Whaaaaat? Those of you who’ve been reading my blog for a while might remember the old AudioCoffee series I used to do on here. Well, I decided to flex the old creative muscles again and try and put that concept into video form – you can check out what I came away with in the embedded video above, or check out that and more on the Fernway Films Youtube Channel. We’re looking to get more frequent and really start growing in the community, and we’re counting on you guys to help us out. Give us a look, toss us a like, tell us what you think, share the video with people who might like it, and if you really really like what we do, maybe hit that subscribe button for us. We’d really appreciate it. 🙂
The transcribed poem is going to be in the description of the actual YouTube video, but as per tradition, I’ll go ahead and post it below, too:
I don’t get stuck – I just think a lot.
I’m my head, I’m
constantly seeing the
world with this
Not enough to
make the memories feel
but enough to make them feel
And it doesn’t matter if it ends up
than it actually is.
I just don’t like having to
clench my fists when I remember.
As if the world doesn’t have enough
I’ve got this professor that’s constantly quoting this one poem by Wislawa Syzmborska – “Nothing Twice”.
The professor’s a brilliant guy, but for some reason the first few lines resonate with me a whole lot more than the things he actually says. What that says about my academic information retention, I don’t know, but here they are –
In consequence, the sorry fact is
that we arrive here improvised
and leave without the chance to practice.
There will, in fact –
come days where all you remember
is the tug.
The binds pulling
splintering at the seams
ready to snap –
the moments before
rope becomes fray.
the hours without aim
tinged with the aftertaste
of cheap cocktails,
To the countertop names:
How is the weather there –
where the days are blessed by
and the whiskey flows
Here’s to you,
the faceless –
This creative space is
you’ve got all this room to
trickle water out into the void
but the ocean stretches out forever
and you’re fucking about with the sink.
It’s sending paper airplanes with
poems written on them off clifftops
hoping someone’ll snatch them up,
except you’re the one person on the planet,
and you should really be trying
to punch holes in the goddamn atomosphere.