Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Weekly Poem 12: Just A Riff

I need an anchor like this poem needs one
A howling who or malevolent moloch
Or maybe a dedication to someone
A gentle soul a met along the asylum path


***

it's incomplete I know, but was just a thought, a fragment. Something anything to meet the deadline I dunno.

Weekly Poem #?: Lazy Sundays

I woke up and I had an idea
I set the water to boil
And emptied the tea pot of unfinished tea and soiled bags.
Brimming like the water boiling
Of thoughts and inspirations
Maybe it was indigestion or leftover dreams from the night
Or just a mind coming to terms with the noon day sun blinding it
But I sat down dreaming of Corso
Haunted by waspy roman catholic guilt
Even though I’m Slavic Orthodox Athiest Canadian
Trying to hard to make it seem more like a poem
And after my third cup of tea, black now bitter
Wired up,
I forgot what I was trying to say
Or what the point was
Here is this as a consolation

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Links: Real Nature

1 Next Nature intro essay by Bruce Sterling its about the way we view nature compared to the actual state of nature. Also seems to be a permanent hub on the subject. Will have to look back on it.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Spiritual Lobotomy

Imagine now, a spiritual lobotomy
There is only body, I know
We are physical machines!
But still there in the bottle
A tiny little pill like a seed
Was supposed to save me
Blossom bloom in my insides
Take away ALL the bad
Leaving me somehow whole/or/Leaving me whole, somehow
Better than it was before

Imagine now, a hole somewhere
You can’t see it only feel it/or/It can’t be seen only felt
Like fumbling around the dark (don’t like this line but will leave it in for now)
Trying to find something that’s gone
How do you explain losing your soul
Or the walking dead, to be nothing.
To go from feeling everything, anything
To nothing, nothing, nothing.

My greatest fear is tiny pill
That could rewrite my blueprints
To make the building stand on its own
But takes away its character
The ivy that are pulling down the fa├žade
But give life to cold dying grey stone.

***

the spots that contain /or/ that means I wrote all alternate liine. So its between those two lines what ends up in the final product. I really like this. Just need to up the passion I think in it. Also need to just edit it through, I think I can add more imagery and poetic stuff. Who knows? Do you? That would imply I have readers.

Life: A Response

Life is physical it is brutal it is short. It is fucking ugly. We’re organs, rotting food, shit, contained by bone, controlled by nerves, wrapped in muscle, protected by our skin. We’re rotting meat essentially. We fucking smell. We’re disgusting really no matter how you try to pretty it up. Living is dying and falling apart at the seams. You see its not about it being half full or half empty. Nothing is black and white like that. That’s life. It’s on one hand a beautiful thing, but how do console that with all the misery in it. How do you bridge the gap between the kid that’s bullied and beat up on the playground everyday and the beautiful life you may live? It may be about perspective but how the fuck do you tell that to the kid that’s getting the shit kicked out of him? Is that just about the way he looks at it? Okay maybe he’s just looking at it wrong right. That’s the thing I can’t reconcile with the simple life is beautiful thing. Maybe its just people are completely fucked. Maybe if we just cut out the human condition from the whole life thing I can agree that it’s beautiful and sweet and harmonious or whatever happy tag line you want to give it. You take out the human element and you get rid of hate, war, greed, and all the assholes.

Friday, September 3, 2010

Masturbatory Exquisite Corpse

Acoustic deadline fiver
Disaster monitor superiority
Crowd initiative beating
Lawn feed disposal
Bounce dreaming remedy
Patching fifteen snack
Institute acquisition
Catching vacancy
Estimate safeguard

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Someone Just Talking to Themselves, Nothing to See Here

Shut the fuck up
You’re not a man

Sorry that’s just my friend
All I wanted was to talk
And this is what I get

You’re not supposed to fucking feel
And if you do I don’t want to hear it

Guess I forgot that guys don’t have feelings
Machismo bullshit but it’s the game I have to play

You expect to get layed that way
Fucking forever virgin

I forgot that as a man
Who is wearing a cock
My only goal should be
To get my penis wet
And spread my seed

What the fuck are you talking about?
You’re just being crude
Just fucking stop right now
What makes you so fucking special?

I’m not special, we’re all special
I don’t know

You don’t know now, maybe its just weird
Or you’re confused or you’re something something
Mumble mumble stumble
JUST FUCKING SPIT IT OUT

(bear with me, please just trust in that I know what I’m doing, and that this is really going somewhere, or that it will end at some point when I pass out, or just completely drained from jerking off too much or crying or something or nothing or god knows what, or when I just stop fucking giving a shit)

It’s funny how things quickly turn around
All I wanted was to talk to someone
Just to talk, people talk, people listen,
People have those things I think
But I don’t know anymore
What other people have
Or are supposed to have
Or the way things are supposed to be

I don’t fucking care,
All you do is fucking talk and talk and talk and…

Sorry, I even started
Sorry, I even tried…

***

I have the uncanny feeling that this one is going to get me into trouble. I also don't know if I should call this a poem. Its ranty, but not. I thought it would be cool to do a back and forth. Maybe I can expand this into a like short play for two people, a back and forth exchange. Or I don't know. But I like it and want to use it for something else. Thats what all these weekly things are intended to be, a visual memory or whatever.

Untitled - An "attack"

I woke up today and felt
the waves crash over me.
Where they come from I
Do not know. But the
consequences are felt
all along the shore. More
and more is pulled out
to sea. Dragging me
too and I should get
up. Soaked to the bone
rattling shivering teeth
chattering pounding heart
the rhythmic waves
pounding out its own song
scrapping of the sand

To easy to just
close my eyes and
go back to sleep and
go with its flow…