"Modernism-Postmodernism"

These are two sub-poems that are complementary and meant to be read as one piece. Three dashes will indicate the transition.

A tribesmen at night

On a hill

Looking to the stars

-A firelight-

Strange fabric statues

Twisting up up up to the stars

Gangly limbs

scarecrows to the old ideas

Alone-alone

Whizzing comets

The stars are your deity

You say, from this i will make my world

Singing! Chanting! The animal heart!

No

the human mind

there lies the soul

there lies emotion

the bed of humanity reason feeling being

Alone-alone

Listen the whistles of dreams in the thistles

Bloodied and battered

Mud and jeevecreeps (a product of your past)

Thumpthumpthump

Drumming!

Singing! Chanting! Dancing! The human heart!

Alone-alone

, from this i will make my world

---

A sooty slutty soul on a hilltop

Decayed vestiges (the ruins of totems)

No sir im no human im all i am

imnoperson

-chemicals over a retinal glen-

feelie-touchie-what/do/i/mean.

Nothing at all

whoa

whoa

wow neat rocketship

who made it

not i

some gods i guess -who cares-

barricade my life

seventie years tied up then death

then oily inky death

no material

sand in the sieve

no world to make or past to counter

ten-sixty years of fast food

no identity

no i

no ego (not to something greater, but to my purchase)

only id

i am not me

i am a customer

pleasureSkin withinEmpty

Social Schizophrenia

"The Queen"

Hail to thee!

High Queen of Wisdom!

Grand Matriarch of the Scrambled Soul

There is no other

So like a mother

(Course, mine was verbal gadabout)

All the streets of stone and filth

Should be bannered

A fete, for you

For you!

Yes, divine right proves it

You are supreme in wit

And justly the author of our lives

The anarchists say

“Down with the queen! She is morbid! Dull! Stupid!”

But I say

“Nay! Up with the queen!

So beautiful, classy, clever, and duplicitous as could be!”

You are, per our insignia, “Kreativ und Absolut”

You are as Newton was

With the prism of your mind and the light of an uncertain sentence

A rainbow of magnificent missteps is produced by your Highness’ lips

Long live the queen! Long live the queen!

Of course, royalty is the first against the chopping block when the revolutionaries come to collect.

"Manifest Destiny Day"

Hurrah to you, O Pioneer!

Saddle your horse and gather your wits

For today is Manifest Destiny Day!

This is the East

Old as its corrupt settlers

Angry as an Iroquois arrow

That is the West

Grand as the ancient redwoods

Promising a new future

A new land in this land

(Which is not their land/Or his land/Or her land/

Is not yet my land/

it is your land)

Your land! To hold! To inhabit!

You can settle

And spread

Yourself to the Eight Corners of the Earth

You come from the East

The old, withering East

It'll be fine

It will not change

Has it ever?

Few deserve to be a ranger

On the prairies, plains, plateaus

You, however, are the quick sort

Who: Can, Does, and Will.

Let yourself grow tall

May the mountains know you as a-

A celestial being

So, to California! O Pioneer!

For today is Manifest Destiny Day!

And when the East calls

As beasts of burden tend to do

(Who can resist this hollow, tempered creature?)

Then know that as pioneers need companions

Some person who can see them eye-to-eye

And match them tit-for-tat

Know that I, that fresh-faced youth

Who doth grow a bit starry under your gentle phrase

Will welcome you back

With a procession of kinsfolk

All who do not question

Nor doubt the full potential

Of you, O Pioneer.

To That Dear Girl Who Doth Offend Me So

This is a poem I wrote because of a young lady who I find quite infuriating. I've nothing against her personally; I just am not happy to have to see her on a mostly daily basis.

The great, swelling brute

(HammerIng down the necks

of every two-bIt BeatnIk

What am i supposed to do

To overturn the judgements of

Two-Three hundred years

In a market economy)

The cough cough cough

Clever! You're Clever!

You pickled whore of babilon

Like you know a thing

Nope, you are an ignoramus

The old sort

No style-

-God knows no substance!-

Just a body, squandered,

for destruction

(If it isn't the grain alcohol, it'll be the gossip rags)

In a life too ordinary to be noteworthy

I apologize,

That was rude. You frustrate me.

No no! you offend me.

Or my sensibilities

at least

Lacking restraint, we can find solace in our pleasures

An Unfinished Poem!

This is a poem I plan to spend quite a bit of time working on. I want it to be a declaration of sorts, a modern epic poem in the vein of "Song of Myself" or "The Hollow Men". But, I appreciate any and all criticism.

‘Untitled 6’

I am the modern gentleman!
A clever man
A silvery man
A walk talk balking man

The assured man
The versed man
When the Canon is burned man
It’s easy to be the best amongst my fellow man
I’ll catch you on the sly, man
And rob you for all you’re worth

But I ain’t no Picasso
In an era where the Canvas is king
(Or queen, depending on your preference)
No, consider (me) at once the ladykiller
Migrating from romance in flow
But consider me a separate Entity

So give me a feather of Vigor
And (Like an ego trip at the edge of Hell)
I will be All-Body
All-Mind
All-Soul

I am the man who
When faced with the cry
“Meaningless! Everything is meaningless!”
By the heretics
(Those dog-eared, French-borne heretics)
I reply
“Yes, I agree.
But
We needn’t make a mockery of things.”
To which they reply
“Who made you think that our goal?”
The response:
“You’re adherents in name”
(Not spirit)

I will be my conception
Of the Grand Ol’ Trinity
And I will be my conception
Of all that a man should be

This is a Terribly-Named Blog

Howdy folks! How are you? I hope you're well.

Of late, I've been listening to the "Rocky Horror Picture Show" soundtrack quite a bit, and I'm really beginning to appreciate how much of a send-off of the glam rock era the film and music are. It has the crunchy guitars, strong bass lines, and gratuitous saxophone that make listening to an old Bowie or T. Rex album great. And the lyrics could have been penned by a (slightly restrained) Lou Reed and relegated to an odds-and-ends b-sides collection (in a positive sense, of course). I suppose even the amphetamines-and-opiates-soaked Seventies were capable of satire.

So, anarchy. What an interesting idea. I've always fancied myself a closeted anarchist, but I'm fairly certain that it is the process, not the goal, that I find so enchanting. Who doesn't want to march in the streets, raise their fists, and take the People's Hammer to the skull of some bloated oligarchy? It's really a very energizing idea.

But what would come of it? The ideas range from a utopian, worldwide commune to the burnt-out carcass of civilization, and most everything in between.

And yet, so many of us are anarchists in our own lives! "How?" you might ask. Why, by way of individualism!

Yes, I've always fancied myself one of those individualists; you know, those old dogs who will have at least one photo taken on a rocky beach so as to evoke this marvelous painting.

Now, before I go any further, I should emphasize what I mean by 'individualism'. I do not mean that reactionary sort anger that many take up in the name of individualism, nor that aloof isolationism. Rather, I mean the philosophy of being truly, utterly singular; of being dynamic, self-refining, contemplative, active, ferocious, conscious, and, most of all, united. If our actions our negative, it is because of a lack of positive morals; I am, at any moment, the actualization of my morality, and so are you. If you are not satisfied with who you are, what you do, and how you perceive the world, then you mustn't console yourself with half-truths about 'being well grounded'.

All of what I just said is meaningless if you are happy with who you are.

Yes, individualism is the philosophy of awaking every day and being willing to say, "I am who I was yesterday; I was no one else, and no one else may be me. If I was wrong, then let me overthrow that part of my personality; if I was right, then let me strengthen that aspect of myself." It is anarchy in the singularity of personhood.

So to you all, I say this: if you wish to change, do it. Quoth Socrates, "The unexamined life is not worth living."