fixing breakfast, something like the following formed a sketchy sentiment:
no amount of wishing or working will create a trip to the past so as to cause a magical improvement on how it is today.
I can’t go 30 or 40 years back in time and realize I’d really latch a loving grasp to poetry or poetics or creative wordsmithing in general, thus putting my progress today beyond what it is.
I can and nearly daily do see where the words I used for something I made yesterday or a year ago incur an incredibly debilitating compulsion to do some self-kicking because today I see how what was written could be better written today;
but I can’t do that; can’t go back and redo so as to eliminate what today incurs an impulse to do some self-kicking; what I can do is redo in this today; or let it go and do a new something;
but tomorrow the same thing: look back and see deficiencies that are impossible to erase; can’t go back and become aware of what I wasn’t aware of so as to have a longer legacy of awareness; can’t do it.
I think it is a cyclical, habitual, seed or source of self-defeat.