30 posts tagged “creative writing”
written on the wall
of the cafe crowd culture
not looking for the
connectedness
ones and twos
books & computers
headphones over streaming
radio sounds
radial nouns
point to the center
then figure it out.
work from a perspective and feel around.
can't start to detect it until you've spun
dizzy fell and looked up swelling winds
blowing thoughts around
recognizing on the rise
that these are my feet and voice
the next word i sing/speak:
running rhythm to the night
the choice to collect
to draw the map
the technocrat escalation
digging in and dancing in
the sunlight
the interconnected
unconcious
collective
resonantly agreeing
to blank page narration
seeing dreams from dreaming
judging and perceiving
from one body to another
(wear it on your collar)
open and hopeful
we can describe the scene
most of all we can say,
we, you and me,
we did what we could
it's still okay to think big...
she doesn't think it kind.
who has to say it before
we leap in
just some () people
and no one else,
okay?
isn't yours, no, not even close,
and the neighborhood where you
reside isn't your home.
that's still a long time ago;
so you think how did it get
this way? born into a maze
without solution or anyone
keeping track except the
other rats and furry animals
that don't believe in maps--
the streets just latest developments
on a hook for you to buy-in
and save!
on the first wash of the season,
when your block looks
so convincing of their
freshest threads and product:
hair, skin, eyes shimmering;
would it be better to think up
diversions, or speak your thoughts
out, out loud. say enough into
coffee cups and weekend pints
of hops, the new american theme.
pack the streets with our mission:
to make a neighborhood
out of houses and a group
right out your dreams--
alright, alright.
offices stacked in buildings, like bodies in the morgue, like boxes placed in storage, once useful now ignored, gathering dust and losing touch with our self-portraits stuffed in drawers: our plans
if you can hear the birds chirpin' then you've got reason to rise. well, i awoke in the morning or after staying up all night; i heard the birds chirping and watched them take flight. i thought i should fly away, but i'm still here standing. i awoke in the sunshine, i awoke in the moonlight,
beyond statistics the individual demands more, like the raven in the orchard and our buried hearts of metal distressed but not destroyed, anchored to the peaks of orange brown and green. the colorful flock: the pattens of wind during sunset commutes and blacktop, asphalt, crumbling social earth.
so, i 'woke in the afternoon without haste or deflection, the traffic and working whistles, the hum and buzz of progress, led by the fussing reconciliation of our seasons with the juggernaut enforcers-- bleeding meaning from life with labyrinths of labor for commercialized identity, brands of commitment without forethought of agreement.
i awoke in the evening with an anxious cold heart, then i heard the bats chirping and i've seem 'em take flight, and i thought i might fly away, but lo' i'm still here. i awoke in the sunshine; i awoke in the moonlight. wake up.
wake up in the sunshine, wake up in the moonlight.
wake up and sing and dance and dream
"start star starving for art arduous obscura"
bench warming at the mall: a new jersey rat
with no amazing maze
in the city of squares and factions of flare
let's create circles and squiggles
emote as we read//write//explode!
erode generations of rote learning
with torrents and off-road excursions
day trips to ponds and swampy estuaries on the scenic patch of FREEway:
turn=>pikes and toll roads
Boxes of Superstition
epochs of tradition
burning in the neural forests of wide world webs
we erect and protect!
-----
"ah! run, quickly"
oh show us a life of leisure
with-out worrying who the shepards
and the wolves are;
trusting blindly in numbers
will leave you
fudging for perfect results
in your bed time-ruinous ruminations.
oh, the riotous expectations from
a belligerent youth of expression
talking about stars and forests,
escape routes, fuck fests
and debate groups
or drunk clubs, subway shuttles,
lawless luxury of naive fist-pumping
pogo-punk dance and strut decimation.
----
"ok. pair up. very good! A+"
i want to change with you. "let's emote 'till we're dead" and be seasonally forgotten with the passing snow. our seeds, singular and sprouting; leaf, and bloom. now, all we need is love and nature: to respawn indefinitely until time as we know it, implodes and explodes into nothing new to speak of but a vast abysmal something else of which all being is extinct from.
when we're just chaos and instinct
well, we're just business and what's free about us
cycles and frequencies with dissonance and reso(nation)
a wilderness of compatriots
sympathetically disconnected.
---
note on "ok. pair up. very good! A+:" title written separately from poem.
he hasn’t learned yet that he needs to walk in the night and sleep during the day in the desert.
and he hasn’t learned that what can’t be taught must be shaded in gray corners of dissuassion.
it seems he’s got a lot. it seems like she’s got a lot, too. it seems they and other’s have acquired a lot, a plot, a city and region.
it also seems that they are not much alike except in self-amusement or tolerance of unfortunate circumstance.
it seems there have been she’s and he’s whom with we’ve casually written off as okay, but not.
when you know yourself it’s the delusions of grandeur that sink most ships. it’s unfathomable wars that we’re in the business of fighting.
we will control the blue, black, and green. we are the flagless company of self-procurement. piratical monopolies with government reinforcements!
brand your citizenry. the livestock should not mix with nobility. money and fashion. possessions and passions. <0245 friday, january 4 2008>
I want to be free! flying through leaving pieces of me in the ephemeral debris! to run, to dance, to scream and shout! we can be heard! we are real! the young inhertance of truth, love, and romance! we know war will be war, but we ask what is it we’re fighting and what for. is it just safety because safe is for the birds. in numbers, flocking, migrating, nesting safely. we are a dynamic organic emergency! pervasive and disjointed. it’s not just survival anymore! it’s flourishing and acceptance! it’s tolerance and access! it’s about land, resources, and business, except it’s more about time, space, and emotion. it’s life, and it happens without diagrams, schematics, or plans. there’s no blueprint for all of us! we are new, we are blindly propagating humanity, we aren’t you and not i, but we are. you and i. like the branching of the poplar, the maple, the evergreen. like the self-assembling crystals, snowflakes, and proteins. abstract aesthetics. plastic prosthetics. we are capable of enabling lasting peace, generationally, education, adaptation, and civil liberty! I want to be free!
(punctation not necessarily spoken emphasis ;- )
/*i heart chaos in raindrops but know nothing of fractals or robots
what do you want to think? of some thing you do and bring it back into view to analyze it. it's just something you do that does it. for me and my desiring, it's unconscious but fully apparent by that truth that lays here with you. it. is nothing you could or didn't do. it. is just how the time went. you just one among many, friend. but let's not let this get heavy, yet. only empathize what you can. look for those excitable resonances with anyone in your neighborhood. not real just math defined by some blind statistically postdesign trend.
i've got phantom pains in my invisible hand
cut off for making a fist
and proudly smashing it into the economy
tagged and blacked-out
our billboard skylines
that market of unrequited desiring
the great illusion, translucent,
but captivating
our legends in the starlight
to be bigger, thinner, better, stronger, longer, faster
to own everything we see and dream and “need”
our delusions of ascension, the grandest
perfectionist orgiastic distopian propaganda
we have the power
we are the assembled
we know what we need
we just have to speak
refrain: all our heroics for progress, effigetically burning with compassion and romance, all the portraits of absolution and heavenly acquisition, our memetical truth, our science, our fight, the self of timeless living, our struggle to be righteous and still right
whimsically we triumph
without verse without reason
the blind watchmaker
fumbling with our foibles
stripping down our cluttered conceiving
taking logic to our hubris
making mathematics to our love
and love to our resonant neighbors
keeping dogatism and absolutism
well-confined to spheres of reason
quarantined
circumscribed
cautiously warning
“with no direction(s) comes fear
though home ain’t far
far from this time-space
another home
another here
another causal calamity”
refrain: all our heroics for progress, effigetically burning with compassion and romance, all the portraits of absolution and heavenly acquisition, our memetical truth, our science, our fictions, the self assurances we’re given, as we struggle to flourish to live serendipitous and happy
step up and speak out
“we are unshackled
still
slavishly abiding
the cultural whip-crack,"
the unconscious,
unfeeling organism:
3rd order and arbitrary, our masters;
conquerable and unexpecting,
we are the colorful collective,
the menagerie of humanity!”
coda: all our heroics for progress, the status quo to ashes, the masses, yes, us, the benefactors, organized and free-floating in the digital aether, knowledge, compromise and tolerance, the beauty of using our eyes, abra los ojos, levántate y despiertate it’s time.
i've got phantom pains in my invisible hand
why must we surrender to ignorant abstention
cut off for making a fist
and proudly smashing it into the economy
tagged and blacked-out our billboard skies
advertising that market of unrequited desiring
to be bigger, thinner, better, stronger, faster, sexier, and wealthier
our delusions of ascension
perfectionist orgiastic utopian propaganda
we have the power
we are the assembled
we know what we need
now we just have to speak
i am an eastern coyote howling whipporwhil for self-proclaimed boundaries
respect and acknowledgement under the bright ponderous moon
