Wordle #108 “May 9th, 2016”

Your voice rides me
like black water
into exiled shores.
For the duration I am snared
as a genie to wishes
both controversial and obscene.
–
There’s always a drawback,
a sacrifice, a parasite ready
to eat the plush from my architecture.
All who love, bleed.
In time even our bones crease.
–
Sidereal and insubstantial
I watch the flask rise from your pocket
and the stitches from your flanks
like a witch’s unsightly fingers.
–
Were it that I were furious
I might still effect some miracle
but all I foster is dread.
Tears churn and wear
My god, there’s nothing left.
–
I am prone to rubatosis,
prone to suicide
the amethyst falls from my finger
like a child’s lonely heart.
What has become of us?
–
I don’t really know how to explain what I’ve been doing and why I haven’t been online much. It’s not that I am busy exactly, but preoccupied with philosophical questions. Like why is it so much easier to accept a negative/deleterious belief than a positive one no matter how ample the proof? Why do we accept certain things as truth? What am I really meant to do with my time? What is worth my time? What is life? Why do I look so old (it isn’t important but it is on my mind)? How do I see behind the body dysmorphia and the illusions of the media? We are living and dying simultaneously. The questions just keep on going. I am reading the Wisdom of Insecurity by Alan Watts. I am thinking about longevity and what centenarians have in common. I am thinking and thinking. I am doing things too, trying to do different things because I’d made everything so safe and so polished and I’ve gotten bored of it. I figure out how to make things efficient and when I’ve gotten it down just so, I start over again leaving out the bits that scare me naturally. When I play the Sims I make all the characters, all the houses, all the community lots and I never really play the game, I just set the stage. I create characters, fascinating, gorgeous characters and I don’t write them into any stories. Sam bought my The Petting Zoo by Jim Carroll his last book and it just came in yesterday so I have started to read that too. I am also reading Ariel by Sylvia Plath. I can’t read one book at a time. I am spending more time outside because we are having a spot of good weather. I don’t know how to do and feel at the same time. I either feel and write or I do and repress. I haven’t understood yet how to stop bouncing between the extremes. Well I could ramble all day about all the stuff bouncing around in my birdcage but it wouldn’t really clarify anything in a tidy and specific way.

Advertisement

Poetry Prompt 28 – Will You Accept This Challenge?

For this challenge we were asked to read our favorite poem and I wasn’t sure if she meant a poem I had written or a poem written by someone else. So I went with someone else (I have many favorites btw), that someone else being Jim Carroll. The poem is simply titled Poem as are many of his poems. Jim Carroll’s poems are hard to find online and are too difficult for me to format so this time you will have to listen muhahaha.

Listen Here

http://vocaroo.com/i/s0mQMcamd9sk

And then a poem from me using the word cues in the prompt

Recovery

An inauspicious moon pulls the veil

Over her pale face and in her obfuscation

The wolves skulk off, steady paws

Plowing the raving earth for bones.

–

Your smile, hangs sanguine

On the cusp of imaginings.

Optimism has lost its buoyancy

And with each knock I slip

Deeper into the house

Afraid of what lies behind

That once confident threshold.

–

Now I retreat, innards gone,

Cavities re-stuffed with

My own pessimistic blather.

Pandora’s box sits on

The edge of the kitchen table,

The contents rushing out

In a vast and terrible parade.

–

I catch the sun’s beaming face

Through a chink in the blinds,

Those glimpses weaving within me

A positively ravenous curiosity.

I unpack myself and

In the midst of my turmoil

Head out into uncertain streets.

Blog Challenge Day 30 Makeup Bag (Not!)

Since I do not have a makeup bag (I do own chapstick and lotion) and do not plan on acquiring one I thought I would choose 20 books from my bookcase instead lol These are not all my of my books and though I have several books by certain authors I chose only to include one for each in the list.

1. “Void of Course” Jim Carroll

2. “A Season in Hell and Illuminations” Arthur Rimbaud

3. “Flowers of Evil” Charles Baudelaire

4. “A Bell Jar” Sylvia Plath

5. “The Wisdom of No Escape” Pema Chödrön

6. “Giovanni’s Room” James Baldwin

7. “1984” George Orwell

8. “A Clockwork Orange” Anthony Burgess

9. “The Metamorphosis” Franz Kafka

10. “A Picture of Dorian Gray” Oscar Wilde

11. “The Tao of Pooh” Benjamin Hoff

12. “Vurt” Jeff Noon

13. “Jane Eyre” Charlotte Brontë

14. “Siddhartha” Herman Hesse

15. “Memoirs of a Geisha” Arthur Golden

16. “Somebody Somewhere” Donna Williams

17. “Tuesdays with Morrie” Mitch Albom

18. “The Book” Alan Watts

19. “The Beautiful Room is Empty” Edmund White

20. “Mythology” Edith Hamilton

Venom and Vice

The hourglass passes sideways

Through my esophagus

Time is horizontal like a trip wire

That’s why we can only

Ascend or descend

*

I am afraid of life and death equally

Seeing as energy can neither be created nor destroyed

I suspect that contrast is a form of hypnotism

Like the revolutions of a monochromatic wheel

*

There is something sympathetic about vice

The way is slides over a wooly exterior

And extinguishes all momentary threat

Vice is patient, it exceeds abstinence in resolve

*

Any step taken along a longitudinal axis

Will lead me indefensibly to addiction

My neurons have exhausted all ingenuity

They are too fastidious in their ventures

The occasional aberration does not

Expedite sobriety, recovery it seems,

Is the only true immortal

*

fictional

The Divine Actor

Art By: Ken Wong

An ambiguous heart

Is easy to misplace

Still my odyssey shelters

No reprieve

Born to the wind

My only consolation

Is verse

*

I find myself somersaulting

Between this world

And the nether

Impoverished but for ink

*

My snakeskin notebook

Sheds culpability

Through the exaltation

Of an anathematic muse

“It’s no longer enough

For me to be one man”

I must know all men

As I know myself

And on exhausting one life

I must be ready

To assume another

That is what it means

To be a genius

To step into the maw

Of a predatory madness

And find amongst horror

The courage to speak clearly

That which is unthinkable

*

This poem was influenced by Rimbaud’s theory on writing. A theory that I, as teenager and young adult, embraced. To a lesser extent of course, as I am generally well-behaved. The quote is Rimbauds.

Incubus (warning slightly explicit)

The moonlight slips unbidden into my womb

It was never my intention to serve him

Between us there is no love

Only the suspicious ache of a pernicious hunger

*

His insignia extends the length of my spinal column

My nerves remember what my eyes cannot conceive

*

In the same way that blood forges hope

By maintaining a predetermined course

He settles deviously on the chest

That the lungs may not drink enough

To arouse resistance

*

He is an intractable savant

The night is his emissary

His bastion as well

He drags his obsidian claws

Across my inner thighs

Thirsting the milk

Of an illegitimate desire

*

Being dreamless he depends solely

On artifice to communicate

It’s such an authentically human trait

To disguise through application

That one cannot but wonder

If he did not exist first as a man

*

Each night astounded by the realization

That one can be multi-orgasmic even in hell

I find my life force slipping like an exclamation

*

Influenced in style by Jim Carroll