Jump to content
Accelerated Evolution

Poetrotsky


Ceraziefish

Recommended Posts

Here's some terrible stream of consciousness writing I wrote because I'm going insane.

--

The title of this poem is "Listening to Agent Orange at the Bus Station on the Edge of Forever."

I'm not one of the forever heroes. I'm not Beowulf nor the Black Prince nor Richard the Lionheart; I don't belong to a mythic time.

I'm not an elf, nor Jesus, nor do I think like I'm a sideways Marxist. I don't belong to a mythic ideal.

I'm not Johnny Appleseed or Montezuma or the Sundance Kid. I don't belong to a mythic place.

I'm not Iron Man, Captain Kirk or the Jackson 5; I don't belong to a mythic world.

But I'm also not Stalin or Yoko Ono. I don't belong to this world either. I'm stuck at the halfway point, in the middling range, the old, seedy bus station surrounded by the junkies and the other dreamers. But don't get me wrong; there's no romance here. Just a bunch of people who want to be somewhere else but are too damn addicted to their own stupidity to get on one of the buses that's always leaving.

"I feel safest being alone, living in darkness, living in a world of my own" is what I try to explain to my bus driver, but I also gotta explain that to the girl sitting next to me a hundred miles away.

But I ain't alone, ain't never could be and always won't be less I become a forever hero.

--

The title of this poem is "Variations on a Theme by Tomorrow Man" and it's about my friend.

But here's the moral of the story; you were always the Rattlesnake and I was the Bell Tower of A Sign. The moral of the story is that it was a long time in coming, just a dramatic pretty-face period to an epic saga of the downfall of our khanate. I couldn't handle it for a thousand little reasons that I don't really remember. Just like Rome, I didn't know it was gone until it wouldn't come back, and then I was too caught up in the new shit to want it back. Six billion eternities ago and past thirtysix chambers of death I see it in the historyback. The moral of the story is that the City of God is nestled high in forgotten clouds so long it's lost all relevance. The moral of the story is that she haunts halls in that city in the South but she was never the problem, just an expression, an effect, not a cause, but you know that, you knew that, you knock that, you knit that. And it came to a head with crimson immolation.

The moral of the story is that once upon a time we are lions. The moral of this story is that there is no moral. Brotherhood never dies.

--

The title of this poem is "Never Wax Your Bald-ass Head After Midnight, You Fuck" and it's about how meaningless everythang is.

If you keep that shit up I'll break up with you and then where will you be, you bald-ass motherfucker? Out on the street with no sex, and then who'll laugh? Oh, you'll cackle once you get good and drugged up, I know you will. Now suck me off again and we'll head for the circus.

--

The title of this poem is "Girl I'm comin' over but I ain't gonna come to you for the rest of your life/Girl I'm comin' over but I ain't gonna come every time you twist the knife." (it's about her)

get the fuck out of my room i'm naked in here why the fuck don't you knock why the fuck don't you love me while you're getting out of here get the fuck out of my life no stop come back i love you like no one else on this stupid planet because you make me think that just maybe there's some beauty left in this hollowed out husk of a world stop caring about palestine stop caring about sex just care about me like i care about you which isn't enough where the fuck are you going why are you doing that fuck you fuck you fuck you i love your smile i love your sushi i love the smell of your car when we drive through the night screaming but never screaming enough but it's all not enough and my house only makes creepy sounds like that when an enemy comes near, so of course it makes sounds like that when you come in so of course i know who you are and why you're here so why do i still love you maybe it's because i'm one punk ass motherfucker with nothing left to live for except pretty faces down by the Nile and getting lost and alone

I'm above this. I can use English. I don't need the runon sentences that you slip me into. When I'm around you it's like my brain stalls and the positronic clutch disengages. I'm gonna rise above, rise above, rise above.

--

This poem is called "The Herp" and it's about industrialism.

How do I get rid of this shit?!

You did not get Manchester from the toilet seat, motherfucker.

Hope y'all enjoyed.

Link to comment

Though the edges are a little tattered, once they pick up steam, those pieces proved pretty good.

Highlights (IMHO)

But I'm also not Stalin or Yoko Ono. I don't belong to this world either. I'm stuck at the halfway point, in the middling range, the old, seedy bus station surrounded by the junkies and the other dreamers. But don't get me wrong; there's no romance here.

Though stories of junkies and dreamers have been done, I still enjoyed the imagery.

The moral of the story is that the City of God is nestled high in forgotten clouds so long it's lost all relevance. The moral of the story is that she haunts halls in that city in the South but she was never the problem, just an expression, an effect, not a cause, but you know that, you knew that, you knock that, you knit that. And it came to a head with crimson immolation.

The tense seems weird throughout this piece, but again, there are some powerful images tucked in there.

Sorry.

Link to comment

Don't apologize for constructive criticism!

I agree that these are pretty bad but I've been making em lately and I'm an attention whore.

They're really disjointed. I figure if I halve them all in length they'll be a lot better.

I know the bit about dreamers and junkies is cliche; I think unconsciously a reference to a friend of mine's poetry (which is really cliche and lame). That's why I included the line, "there's no romance here." Forever Heroes needs a lot of work but I think there's a good poem hiding in there somewhere.

The second poem you quoted is a direct response to a friend of mine's poem (I've been sharing a lot of poetry lately... weird) so it might make a little sense. The tenses are weird on purpose; his poem ended with the line "Once upon a time we are lions" referring to our friendship, and I really liked that line, so I used weird tenses in my poem. Maybe it doesn't really work.

Link to comment

Join the conversation

You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.

Guest
Reply to this topic...

×   Pasted as rich text.   Paste as plain text instead

  Only 75 emoji are allowed.

×   Your link has been automatically embedded.   Display as a link instead

×   Your previous content has been restored.   Clear editor

×   You cannot paste images directly. Upload or insert images from URL.

×
×
  • Create New...