Poetry is made up of words > Poetry is just a word > Words are just 'made up' > they don't exist > therefore nothing I write exists.
If it does exist, it can describe beauty, love, lust, hate, friendship, discontentment, tragedy, humility, humour; life. It is a record of life, and everything it comprises, for mind's eye visualization, from vocabulary.
Art is just three letters.
Anger Angst Adoration Aim
Regret Revere Reason Righteousness
Temptation Time Tragedy Tact
Three little letters, one word; though it encompasses millions of ideas.
I may not write perfectly structured verse with perfect metric rhythm, or the right amount of syllables on each line- but I like that, because I don't subscribe to rules and the conventional. It's meant to be my way of venting, so why do it any other way? If words are made up then so too, grammar can be.
Writing is a solitary pleasure, it's used to escape and bring things into perspective, to vent, and to bring the otherwise ignored to life. Writing is true freedom. The pen is truly mightier than the sword.
Our free-will played a bigger part in our past than is possible now. As long as we have the power of free-will any oppression, in any form, will create problems.
Sometimes the world you see in your mind is alot more coherent and pleasure-full than the one you wake up to. You can objectively and subjectively observe human nature and report it in the way you see fit.
I write how I want to write, otherwise it would not be mine.
My physical being is here, sitting in this chair, typing this proclamation, but my heart and my soul and my mind are on this page in letters, words, some sort of structure, ordered and unordered from somewhere in my subconscious. I am facing you, looking into your eyes and you don't even know it. You are absorbing part of me into your being, and if there's something indelible to you here, you will carry me with you for the rest of your natural life. That's part of the beauty.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Reminders of Nazi Germany were sitting in the diner
Next to an ice cream parlor
Stella wanted a coffee
And I wanted a cigarette
Idi Amin was on the 562
A few seats down from 'Headphones' Eddie
Saloth Sar was at the farmer's market
Next to the lemongrass basket
Charles Manson spiked the punch
At a Hollywood wedding on Tuesday
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Just dust on his glasses
Wipe me away with the sky
Pull the blankets from children
Speak calm in a hurricane
You do know the script is backwards?
I am Calvera
A gypsy Grandmother with an orange peel smile
Lady fortune teller; dream seller
Stellar ambitions for a daughter
Of a divine Chief
The son of a part-time pallbearer
I am a placid Private
I just lost my Corporal
Now I'll lose the war
I feel ordinary- no flattery
I feel tired- no walking today
I feel useless- no apparent improvements
Drunk tongued awkward one
Solid lunged walking forward-run
My brain won't budge
I dreamt of violent people turning into lions
Eyes of miles and miles of ions
My neighbour hated my loud music
He was fiercely ill
Five fingers lead to one palm
Sprouting tall to touch the sun
Eating stars that fell to the window sill
It's more like photographs than film
A wood whittling box making occultist
Using small children's eyes to focus
Hocus pocus, whore and hostess
They came together like family
Drinking blood and lime happily
From Napoli- a soup made of lilly
I ate one full of napalm
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Bruised legs of chairs
Split an atom with a hair
Blonde siren- violent
Teflon, computer chips
20 minute automation
There in lies machines
Wooden spindle- rope
Suicide of knowledge
History and Greeks
Robed naked trainer of Olympian
Subtle breast- hardcore erotica
Your ankles are showing
Stoned in a hot sandpit
Temple in the valley
A golden wreath angers the peasant
Thief in an exotic bizarre
Spice laden wicker
Helmet; sword - shin spliter
Sandal wearing shit kicker
Cosmic snake charmer
Spectacle- the obscene
Beard with a walking stick
Englishmen in an alley
Peace thrown to the wind
Crushed ginger bug killer
Potatoes- conquest of the whites
Starving farmer house burning
Leave for extended port
Bottled hatred- drank by many