don’t let the anguish become you
you didn’t choose all this bullshit
you don’t pick who your parents are
you won’t get to control how things go
maybe you’ll have twenty years of shit jobs
and shit bosses…
there’s no meaning there
you don’t have to make it more than it is
you don’t get to choose what this place
gives you…
you age, you don’t get to pick what
parts of you fall out first
someone leaves you, you can’t predict
what pieces of your heart you’ll get back
you don’t get to choose your friends
or your enemies,
and sometimes your saviors
become your abusers,
you don’t get to select the disease or addiction
that everyone knows will someday kill you,
— you don’t get to mold the shape
of your own soul…
life itself, in many ways, is a failure…
a failure of contraception,
a failure of discretion,
a failure of inhibition
and, of course, many…many breakdowns in wise decision
but get this:
you are a vessel, you will take it all in, and then
it’s up to you to tip yourself over
and pour —
you get your chance
to make the suffering into something better
so paint with it, let it all come forth
hell is the palette
and your torturers are the canvas
— fucking throw it all out there
and see what happens…
creation is the thing…
you’re a machine, an engine of pulp
born to grind and churn and mix up sorrow
and garbage and then hold it all
up under your own self-perpetuating light
and despite all that has made you, despite
all the destruction and disaster,
you can turn a fragile weak dot of a person
into a magnificent spiral,
an expanding universe,
you’ll see…
you will come to understand
that you can live with pure, brutal consequence
because other celestial bodies need your fire,
other beings need your hand and voice,
you’ll be what they hear
when they dig themselves out of their own chaos
and don’t ever forget
about what went into you, when someday
you reflect upon your own grandeur
Garbage Notes:
I haven’t looked at this one in a while. The small and unassuming title ‘loop’ sort of belies its own intensity. But upon reflection, I see it as a powerful piece about the hectic twists and turns of life and how unintended consequences can shape us into the people we inevitably become.
The poem emphasizes the nature of failure and the impact it has on our definition of self. Conception can be viewed as a failure of contraception. Action a failure of discretion. And so on. Life is full of bullshit, for sure. And we don’t get to choose the hand we’re dealt. And yet we keep playing. We grit our teeth and keep ploughing through the nonsense.
I like the part about being a vessel. Sometimes the only thing that makes me happy is that I have the power to take all the shit that life throws at me and turn it into art. To me it’s the ultimate act of volition. To say fuck you to fate and throw all the trash back in destiny’s face—but this time with your own stamp on it. That’s what it means to be creative. You’re a machine, an engine of pulp born to grind and churn and mix up sorrow and garbage and then hold it all up under your own self-perpetuating light.
In a way, this poem also serves as a big middle finger to the awful people out there who take advantage of others—people who abuse the weak, people whose only aim in life is to make other people miserable for their own benefit. A line in this vein that really stands out is, “hell is the palette and your torturers are the canvas.”
There’s so much to this poem, and I could probably dissect every little line if I had the time. Well, maybe if we were sitting down with a cup of coffee or something, we might talk for hours. But instead I’ll let you take it in, think on it, and enjoy it. I hope it moves you in ways that help you find your own power.
Franco Amati 2023
“Freedom is what you do with what’s been done to you.” -Jean-Paul Sartre
So often I read your words and it is an exact reflection of my state of mind. Of course the words are different, but this is e-x-a-c-t-l-y how I feel right now. Hoping it dissolves soon, or at least I can release the aperture and open up to the bigger view at some point. Thank you Franco. Your words always make me feel less alone.
“Sometimes the only thing that makes me happy is that I have the power to take all the shit that life throws at me and turn it into art.”
Such a powerful take-a-way, may we all embrace this. Awesome poem & notes.
Will read it again & again