I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
Month: November 2023
It was only last week when I noticed just how battered and beaten-up my notebook had become, the cover barely hanging on to the spiral coil, inner pages rounded with wear from being stuffed into and pulled out of my packsack.
My notebook is always there, at the ready to record random scrabble, notes and observations about where I am (or where I was), skeletons of poems to be completed (or discarded), grocery lists and reminders to my self.
A lot of things begin in a notebook. It has a purpose.
I have a purpose and writing it all out, at the time, seems to help.
My writing has been inconsistent at best these past few months. I began this notebook in May, and as I briefly perused the pages I realized how bruised and battered some of my thoughts were.
My notebook is nothing like my journal where I make a more purposeful attempt at legible handwriting with greater attention to the form, style and substance.
Daily, almost, I record what I feel is important to me.
Often it begins in my notebook.
I had an idea last week, a new concept, another way to sketch out my thoughts, perhaps with greater regularity and discipline. I began to outline my plans on some of the pages remaining in the battered journal, but realized I needed more space to move these thoughts forward.
A new scribbler was required and it is now in front of me. The pages are fresh and there are many. The cover is presentable and firm, strong enough to protect the words within, at least for a time. A notebook records time, page-by-page, day by date.
A new notebook is inspiring, or as inspiring as you make it. Right now, with me, any form of inspiration is welcome.
11/17/2023 j.g.l.
This day, unlike others before (except yesterday), showed much
less promise than possibility. I succumbed to my inner rhythm,
inconsistent and less palpable than days previous, doing slightly
more than nothing of consequence. Productivity can be such an
immeasurable notion, and one I do not feel today (slightly less
than yesterday). After the fact, I find it far less distressing than
depressive. I can only concern myself with what will become of
this restless, repressive malady, neither curious nor causative. I
fumbled my way through today, and likely will tomorrow. My
ever-present tension: present tense. The past comes rushing back.
Deadlines mean so little when you’re not paying attention to time.
© 2023 j.g. lewis
Posted on November 14, 2023 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
Underneath the obvious,
elements of our life
remain. There,
known only to ourselves.
Or so we think.
We all have our secrets, and
sins we keep hidden
behind our facade.
Time sacrificed, we think,
our past a part of all
we have known.
The knowing is what hurts.
11/14/2023 j.g.l.
