Monday, October 15, 2012

A Conflicted Poem for My Knife






I want to whole-heartedly
give you
to someone else.

Hell, I don't even know
if it's you we're talking about
here.

I want you to become
a part of someone else.
I want you to twist up
their insides
when you break it off.

I want to always
look at you as something
better than sandpaper,
or hand-to-hand combat.

I want you
to always shimmer
when we go out
at night.

I want everyone to
know you're there.

I want no one to see
you loosen up
when we're under pressure.

I want you to stay
tight, together,
stable, unnerving.

I want to give you
to someone else,
so I can stop feeling so...
-i don't know-
compulsive about
this 1-way relationship we have.

I want you to be
your perfect self,
to hold you in place of a pen,
to hold you in a place
akin to the esophagus
of a putrid mammoth
before the bulk,
young & needy valentines
in corporeal envelopes.

I want to buy you a sheath,
to polish your skin
with japanese waterstone sets
& Shapton mineral oil.

I want to give you
to someone else,
so I can see the flash
of NO FEAR
reflecting from
the rodent's eyes.

I want to give you
to someone else,
so I can learn to finally
fear DEATH.


-photos & artwork via Meth Lab photo/art-correspondent:
Pantifesto's Porntastic Phunhouse-



Saturday, October 6, 2012

"Not All Writers Write, But Some Do" by an Online Friend



"Not All Writers Write, But Some Do"

(for Clement and Rodney but not Cycic)

I.
A writer writes as often as a writer can, but he often neglects to do so because sometimes all there is to write about is the writerly struggle to figure out what exactly to write.

II.
When a writer neglects to write, he'll still consider himself a writer and arrogate to himself writerly qualities. Some of these qualities include (but are not restricted to) an inexplicable passion for bar fights and bus rides, as well as an obnoxious habit of yelling obscenities from a third story apartment window or hurling orange peels at a passing bag lady.

III.
A writer will promise to write sooner than later, then postpone all writing in order to masturbate. When he's done masturbating, he'll begin procrastinating. When he's done procrastinating, he'll begin to think about starting an outline, then put off writing it for a few months. Once he's ready to start thinking about writing his outline again, he'll push it to a later date and likely masturbate.

IV.
When a writer isn't writing, he's probably driving, or eating chips on the sofa. Either way, he isn't writing. He's sitting. But when he's writing, he's also sitting, which is why he often confuses writing with driving. When he reaches his destination after a long drive, he'll often fool himself into believing that he's actually gotten some writing done.

V.
When a writer isn't driving, he probably isn't writing. He may be thinking about writing, but he's easily distracted by the bag lady that passes by his apartment every day. He'll probably devise a plan to kill her, so that he can then write about it. But he'll quickly realize that another writer had written the same story and called it Crime and Punishment.

VI.
When a writer realizes that he simply can't bring himself to write, he'll do one of two things: emulate a prodigious, celebrated writer of the Western literary canon or jump from his third story window in despair, only to land on the bag lady who'll break his fall and be killed forthwith.

VII.
When a bag lady breaks the fall of a suicidal writer and dies forthwith, the writer will then be free to write about the experience without ever being suspected of ripping off Dostoyevsky. The experience is now authentically his, and all that's left for him to do is write about it.

VIII.
When it comes time for a writer to write about his authentic experience, he'll then struggle with form. He'll have trouble settling on a narrative technique and even switch back and forth between the first person point of view and third person omniscient, at which point he'll grow discouraged and give up writing---but only temporarily because he still views himself as a writer. Not just any writer, but the next Dostoyevsky.

IX.
When a writer considers himself the next Dostoyevsky and hasn't written more than three paragraphs of material, he's in for an unbearably tough time. This is the point that either makes or breaks a writer, and he is more defined by what he doesn't write than what he does write.

X.
When a writer is defined by what he doesn't write, he chooses to write only when he wants to, which is never. But he will perpetually think about writing and being perceived and lauded as a writer---a great writer in fact, who didn't have to lift a finger, or waste his breath, just pretend.