Energy or ch'i flows through your being compelled to return to itself. A circle is representative of this. If you transmit a lot of energy, it returns to you with tremendous momentum. Each relationship you have is itself a unique circle of energy that is analogous to the ultimate nature of the Universe. The relation between self and other dissolves when you acknowledge other as an extension of self, leaving only a relationship with self. If the self is loved by the self, it is also loved by the other, as they are the same. The illusion of other is necessary to reach the realization of self acceptance or self love.

"Early to bed, early to rise." For some of us, especially us habitual 2am-or-later bed-goers, that's a hard one to pull off. A tip I learnt recently is to turn off all your screens at least an hour before bed. (that means no iphone reading before you rest). Apparently our electronic devices emit a blue light which to our brain is similar to sunlight, therefore keeping us awake longer. There are apps you can download that claim to either limit or stop this production of blue light from your screen (an example would be f.lux).

How about you fellow poets, be ye early birds or night owls? Notice any difference when you switch?

-Emanuel

I got a couple of poems done today on the bus and it hit me that I write so much better when I'm outside of my house. To me, that either indicates that my house is a shitty space to write in, or outside of my house is just incomparably better. Anyone else notice their writing improve after spending time outdoors? Or while writing in nature?

I also found a poem I did from a while back, was going to post it on the main site but figured it was long and I'd just post it here instead:

Give up poems today it is prose unity
Building up steam like infinity
Being inconsequential like redo machine
Finding better influences like new partner dude
Your grandma ain't the one giving you the blues
It's you
You, you and only you
A champion of time and space
Who gives a bloody fist about the human race?
We do.
So we better lift legs and get spades,
Before we get paid to get laid on a jet plane.
Lyrically I'm cocaine,
Biz Markie fly - so strange
Can't let her friend boy get you down
Always gotta get up and get down,
Funky town,
Soul town,
Area of old town.
We comin' round.

-Emanuel