Knowing certain things is a curse.

The potential evil of poetry is one of those things.

I'll just explain for the uninitiated why poetry is potentially evil.

Poetry has rhythm and it therefore bypasses the conscious mind and goes straight to the subconscious. That's the reason you get songs stuck in your head all day. You have no control over that unless you know how to get a rein on your subconscious.

Poetry also has its message composed of intelligible words which don't go straight to your subconscious, they lurk right up there in the thinking part of your brain and they stay there thanks to the hooks supplanted into your subconscious. Thus the unrealistic messages of poetry can be used to subvert the thinking mind.

If that rhythm were not so successful, do you really think ad agencies would use jingles to promote their clients' products? Hell, those fuckers even sing the damn phone numbers because they know you'll remember them better if they're sung than if they're just read out. It's an deniable truth that rhythm can be used to subvert thought.

Now why is this a curse to me?

Firstly, because there's something I want someone to understand. At any time, it can be a particular individual or nobody at all - just a general message for anyone who wants to read it. I can trust that whoever reads what I write will understand what it is I'm trying to say, but whether or not the message gets through is another matter.

What better way to get the message across than by wrapping it in poetry.

To me, though, that's tantamount to dishonesty and it's manipulation of the first order and I will not participate in that sort of activity. I'm perfectly capable of writing a poem sufficient unto my needs to get the message across, but it's also a betrayal of the trust that has been placed in me.

Other means I could use to transmit the sentiment without the betrayal of trust is by using the means of music without lyrics. Unreliable and not always clearly understood since people listen to certain types of music according to the moods they are in and the wrong music at the wrong time will - to coin a phrase - fall on deaf ears.

The other means I have at my disposal is to write a narrative and I was exhorted to do just that earlier tonight. "Write a bestseller" I was told. Easier said than done, but moreso because the marketplace seeks out certain stories at particular times. I can write anything that's attractive to a few people at any given time but only as a diversion, not as an offering for posterity. It's a bit of a coward's way out, but under the circumstances, it's probably the best option available to me right now. Of course it also means the immediacy will be lost.

I'm not conceited enough to think that's going to be any great catastrophe, but it still leaves me without the option of adequately saying what I want to say right now.

I would pen more poetry. Only if I didn't know what I know. I can't get my head around the ends justifying the means. Where people are concerned, the ends never justify the means. Time to quit PhilochatX methinks too. Not to sound melodramatic, but evil has taken hold of that place and I can't stay there any more. Why are people so slow to recognise pure evil when they see it? Knowing what they know, how can they tolerate it being in their midst? It makes me despair of humanity when I see ignorant people putting up with that vile woman, knowing what she does and what she's like and letting her continue doing it... Just staggering. No more for me. I'm fed up having my blissful existence elsewhere stained by the memory of that filthy bitch.

Why has it been so long since I've blogged?

Simple, I've been busy elsewhere - doing what I like best.

Gripe if you must, they come to my inbox so I see them pretty well instantly.