During a therapy session I made a list about what keeps
me on my tippy-toes when I sit, I spread my legs out with my
tippy toes like a Thai mistress.
Freud was making odd gestures with his hands, Austrian style.
I thought I was going to catch more air through my mouth
than usual, I guess when you’re the target for psychosis
than you got to stay with the pros, Freud told me how
he once stole a mannequin and put it in his car.
But still I wondered if he was kidding.
I wondered if these feelings I had for him were real.
Ethereal, special, mostly something special, I was gay.
The way I trusted him in his attempts to cure me.
I was alright, alright from the fact that he was my doctor.
And evermore the figure who amalgamates reason like a philosopher.
To something more in his work, his books. Something divine.
I might need to check out what he has in store for me
when all I have left is my reason to blow a kiss to him.
And what I feel for Freud is that I think he is special.
Someone around me must feel the same way too.
Others might not understand, understand my ways.
Freud is my master, big boss, my universe.
Nothing can take that away from me.
Back with freud.. I agree with tranquility that this one reads smoother than the first part, and in general I think the voice has more, idk, personality? I also thought most of tranquility's cuts were good, so I'll just give my reaction to lines that stood out. One thing I was thinking of while readying this poem was if the narrator was really suffering from psychosis, and how that may be effecting what they write. their admiration for Freud seems to ne beyond rational, nearly psychotic. I'm not sure if I read too much into
I was gay but after reading that I looked at the poem through a homoerotic lens where the narrator is a male crushing hard on freud as they go through a psychoanalysis session. Similar to the last poem there is an element of hyperbolic admiration, but in this poem is felt more sexual and submissive. Like the pleasure of not having to worry because you have a "professional." The
siesta in the title made me think the whole thing was possibly a dream. Just my 2cents, thnx for sharing.
(07-24-2021, 08:48 AM)Poetry In Motion Wrote: [ -> ]During a therapy session I made a list about what keeps
me on my tippy-toes when I sit, I spread my legs out with my
tippy toes like a Thai mistress. I didn't quite get the difference between tippy toes and tippy-toes. Otherwise There is something playful about this opening with tippy toes and Thai mistress.. At first I had a hard time relating this Thai mistress image to the rest of the poem but as I read on I realized the poem had a strong sexual undertone, or maybe that was the overt subject, and that this image somehow related to that.
Freud was making odd gestures with his hands, Austrian style. I'm not sure what Austrian style hand gestures are, it takes my imagination somewhere, but I'm wanting more. It also seemed significant that the narrator was sitting Thai style and the hands were Austrian, but then I couldn't really draw a connection between the two.
I thought I was going to catch more air through my mouth Ok, thats an interesting thing to think, not entirely sure what it means but I want to
than usual, I guess when you’re the target for psychosis
than you got to stay with the pros, Freud told me how
he once stole a mannequin and put it in his car.
But still I wondered if he was kidding. I almost wonder if you could cut this line and the previous three or four. Being the target for psychosis seems possibly important for the narrative, im not sure about the rest.
I wondered if these feelings I had for him were real.
Ethereal, special, mostly something special, I was gay. I'm reading gay as having a double meaning of happy and homosexual
The way I trusted him in his attempts to cure me. This is the first time I wonder why the narrator is a target of psychosis
I was alright, alright from the fact that he was my doctor.
And evermore the figure who amalgamates reason like a philosopher.
To something more in his work, his books. Something divine. Beyond trusting freud as a doctor, the narrator nearly worships him
I might need to check out what he has in store for me
when all I have left is my reason to blow a kiss to him.
And what I feel for Freud is that I think he is special.
Someone around me must feel the same way too.
Others might not understand, understand my ways.
Freud is my master, big boss, my universe.
Nothing can take that away from me.
(07-25-2021, 12:46 PM)Miley Wrote: [ -> ]Back with freud.. I agree with tranquility that this one reads smoother than the first part, and in general I think the voice has more, idk, personality? I also thought most of tranquility's cuts were good, so I'll just give my reaction to lines that stood out. One thing I was thinking of while readying this poem was if the narrator was really suffering from psychosis, and how that may be effecting what they write. their admiration for Freud seems to ne beyond rational, nearly psychotic. I'm not sure if I read too much into I was gay but after reading that I looked at the poem through a homoerotic lens where the narrator is a male crushing hard on freud as they go through a psychoanalysis session. Similar to the last poem there is an element of hyperbolic admiration, but in this poem is felt more sexual and submissive. Like the pleasure of not having to worry because you have a "professional." The siesta in the title made me think the whole thing was possibly a dream. Just my 2cents, thnx for sharing.
(07-24-2021, 08:48 AM)Poetry In Motion Wrote: [ -> ]During a therapy session I made a list about what keeps
me on my tippy-toes when I sit, I spread my legs out with my
tippy toes like a Thai mistress. I didn't quite get the difference between tippy toes and tippy-toes. Otherwise There is something playful about this opening with tippy toes and Thai mistress.. At first I had a hard time relating this Thai mistress image to the rest of the poem but as I read on I realized the poem had a strong sexual undertone, or maybe that was the overt subject, and that this image somehow related to that.
Freud was making odd gestures with his hands, Austrian style. I'm not sure what Austrian style hand gestures are, it takes my imagination somewhere, but I'm wanting more. It also seemed significant that the narrator was sitting Thai style and the hands were Austrian, but then I couldn't really draw a connection between the two.
I thought I was going to catch more air through my mouth Ok, thats an interesting thing to think, not entirely sure what it means but I want to
than usual, I guess when you’re the target for psychosis
than you got to stay with the pros, Freud told me how
he once stole a mannequin and put it in his car.
But still I wondered if he was kidding. I almost wonder if you could cut this line and the previous three or four. Being the target for psychosis seems possibly important for the narrative, im not sure about the rest.
I wondered if these feelings I had for him were real.
Ethereal, special, mostly something special, I was gay. I'm reading gay as having a double meaning of happy and homosexual
The way I trusted him in his attempts to cure me. This is the first time I wonder why the narrator is a target of psychosis
I was alright, alright from the fact that he was my doctor.
And evermore the figure who amalgamates reason like a philosopher.
To something more in his work, his books. Something divine. Beyond trusting freud as a doctor, the narrator nearly worships him
I might need to check out what he has in store for me
when all I have left is my reason to blow a kiss to him.
And what I feel for Freud is that I think he is special.
Someone around me must feel the same way too.
Others might not understand, understand my ways.
Freud is my master, big boss, my universe.
Nothing can take that away from me.
Thanks Miley, this poem needs to be rendered better and shown with a little more poetic prowess. I hope to improve it and give a revision soon.
Anyway here is my revision, hope you like it now.
During therapy I made a list about what keeps
me on my tippy-toes when I sit, I spread my legs with my
toes upwards like a Thai mistress.
Freud was throwing up his hands complaining, Austrian style.
I thought I would catch more air through my mouth
as that could keep me vigilant and awake.
I guess when your the target of psychosis
you got to stay with the pros.
I wondered if these feelings I had for him were real.
Ethereal, special, mostly special, I was the ultimate queer.
I trusted him in his attempts to cure me.
I was alright, alright he was my doctor.
Forever the figure who amalgamates reason like a philosopher.
His philosophy and desire to work is relatively divine
by working with other patients is what makes it divine.
I need to check out what he has in store for me
when all I have left is my reason to blow a kiss to him.
What I feel for Freud is that he is special.
Someone around me must feel the same way too.
Others might not understand, understand my ways.
Freud is my master, the big boss, my universe.
Nothing can take him away from me.
