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The cumulative affects of crash-test dummies crowding the street*



Go-Go Dancers gigging in Plexi-glass capsulecages ,
Prozac-dulled cheerleaders motioning"Misericordia" routine.
SourPatchKids throttling a pharmaceutical pinata, swooping
frenzied daredevil dives to capture it's bleeding jollies.
Paper mach gnomes wiping their ass with cotton,
the most inherently gracious delicacy you ever did see.
Humor just pissed in my coffee,thats cool I'll laugh it off.

Alleyways teeming with fully-poseable Figurines,
 strung-up in wardrobe rags,
 laminated billboard/human hybrids
 prancing about in latest haute-couture
sweatshop apparel.
 
Bit-mapped Pixels networktied to
a Post and de-fragged really hardware
their product is licensed.

 His voice sincere, but his fingers crossed,
Soapbox Collarwhite peddles archaic
fears to the sleeping, stoking an antique fire
so quaint and warm, I almost wish I brought marshmallows.

 Stridingfast by a mock-up "holiday", watch
writhing masses all washed up by the tide,
PaleGetting Red getting stupor-glazed,
Bore Bored Boring buying keg-tap interaction ,
paws overflowing with frothy alcho-ejaculate,
foaming mouths lurching to be quenched.

Civilization is ricocheting it's skull off a lampost as
Sociopath Society,clad in dandyMatador attire, sets to
samba-ing along the boardwalk, tempting dismemberment
from the Still-Born Culture lynch mob who in turn
recline in creaky-wood chairs overdue for the kindling pile.

{....A furthering horizon vacuums me to intermission......}

a comingattraction finish-line to past/present/futurenow
there it goes,
           just warped me foward,

   oh wait.... !@#$.
  still caughtupin here.

Ex Communici from Planet Earth,
Cosmonaught selling-out,because he never bought in,
so bourgeoise this idea called "gravity",
In free-orbit since the womb, ripping cable for kicks,
stealing frequency to stay amused,transmitting co-ordinated delerium
being promiscious with my hands, buttressing her marmalade with toast.
"Yuri, my space-suit interiors all famished!"
"Pass the menu, we'll order are way out ....."
"Hello? I'd like a Dishonerable Discharge from the Human Species. Stat!"

The Lunatic Fringe is breaking into my bunker,
scrawling crazed papercut demands on my brow,
sucking down shinycan SPAM by the gulp, their
telescopeeye lensing my partials for the public.
the Joykill Choir sent their Chief Negotiator,
only to see the Hostages
           somersault
           to
           pavement......

           KERPLUNK! SPLAT! SPLATSPLATKERPLUNK!
"Freshly squeezed juicy-juice bodies venting plasm!
From A+ to O- all your favorite flavors glisteningapparent loosed from the host!
Puddlesred sluicing down, now steadyseeping lave-like
 now co-agulating still in gutter troughes,
now gelatine -hydrogenase sticky-lick-sweet,
finally become Luscious Licorice awaiting slurping passerbys!"
           "YUM-ME!"


*Instructions: The above structure is not up to coherency-code. Repeated washings will result in brighter colors. Discomfort and/or chafing may result from compulsive use. Thanks for playing!
          
          


Aug/21/2011, 6:46 pm Link to this post Send Email to Alkiviades   Send PM to Alkiviades Blog
 
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Re: The cumulative affects of crash-test dummies crowding the street*


Written during the demonstration in Athens a few monts back, though not necessarily related.

My idea of a good way to pass the time.

alki
Aug/21/2011, 6:48 pm Link to this post Send Email to Alkiviades   Send PM to Alkiviades Blog
 
Terreson Profile
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Re: The cumulative affects of crash-test dummies crowding the street*


This is absolutely over the top writing and I have enjoyed every minute, sentence, and biting expression in it. Maybe you've read Charles Baudelaire's collection of prose poetry he called Paris Spleen. His spleen, as he thought of it, was expressed against everything false in bourgeois society, everything he hated in hypocrisy and values that have no moral or spiritual value. A favorite prose poem of mine is called The Gallant Marksman:

43. The Gallant Marksman

"As the carriage was cutting through the woods, he had it stop near a shooting gallery, saying that it would be nice to shoot a few bullets to kill Time. To kill that monster -- isn't that everyone's most ordinary and legitimate occupation?

-- And he galantly offered his hand to his beloved, his delicious and execrable wife, to that mysterious woman to whom he owed so many pleasures, so many pains, and perhaps also a large part of his genius.

Several of the bullets struck far of the mark: one was even lost in the ceiling. And when the charming creature laughed hysterically, mocking the clumsiness of her husband, he turned toward her abruptly and said: "Look at that doll over there, to the right, the one sticking its nose in the air and which has such a haughty expression. Well! Dear angel, I'm imagining it's you." And he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. The doll was cleanly decapitated.

Then, leaning toward his beloved, his delicious, his execrable wife, his inevitable and pitiless Muse, and respectfully kissing her hand, he added: "Oh! My dear angel, how much I thank you for my skill!"

What an exquisite sting that piece has, huh? Certainly more subtle and under-layered than what you've done here. But they both issue from the same source. The source of hatred and disgust true lovers of life and beauty feel towards hypocrisy and falseness in values. I can see how the poem got written during the Greek riots. Let's face it. The Greek working class and middle class and so many young, educated men and women are getting royally screwed by the bankers, by the wealthy, and by the EU demanding economic reform at their expense.

I got a poem from many years ago. In it the narrator is bar crawling late at night drunk as drunk can be and still standing. His company is a ghostly company of bad boy poets who egg him on. Baudelaire, that scoundrel Francois Villon, Apollinaire. That sort of poet maudit. He sums up his ghostly company this way:

who've laughed at the masses
from their crosses of pain,
while crying in rivers over
sweet cheats kept dangling
before the same.

That is the chord your poem strikes in me. By second strophe poem's intention is clear:

Alleyways teeming with fully-poseable Figurines,
 strung-up in wardrobe rags,
 laminated billboard/human hybrids
 prancing about in latest haute-couture
sweatshop apparel.


Case could not be clearer. Last two lines of the strophe especially. Your poem scares up a whole bunch of reflections, a whole bunch of times when writers and artists have squarely faced exactly the same kind of reckoning: the contradiction, say, between haute couture and the sweatshop when, as you say, same apparel originates in the sweatshop. The slice is nice and surgical like.

A big favor to ask. Spend some time on the poem. Reconsider means, but not too much. Revisit approaches, but not too many times. Then post it in our critique forum where you can get some critical feedback. Good stuff.

Tere

Aug/27/2011, 2:12 pm Link to this post Send Email to Terreson   Send PM to Terreson
 
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LOVED that Paris Spleen excerpt! This is a book I need to read.

I am very wary when it comes to poetry (mine). Perhaps this is why I only write it in non-traditional forms, or keep to the more absurd end of things. I have a blog where I post what I consider throw-away or experimental poems,all un-edited. They are all first draft pre-thought works, and I keep them locked up there, where they die a slow death of neglect emoticon

You know what? I will take a shot at editing it. There are some obvious changes I could make, glaring deletes. I knew it when I wrote it, but it was so much fun I got a bit carried away.
Aug/27/2011, 9:25 pm Link to this post Send Email to Alkiviades   Send PM to Alkiviades Blog
 
Terreson Profile
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Please do. This poem does not deserve a slow death. One suggestion. I would so incoporate the Greek street scene into the title and give it a date. Just a passing notice to give the poem orientation.

Tere
Aug/28/2011, 1:59 pm Link to this post Send Email to Terreson   Send PM to Terreson
 
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Good idea. This would be a kind of "toe on the ground", to borrow your term.

The tile is a bit elf-indulgen, I admit.
Aug/28/2011, 7:40 pm Link to this post Send Email to Alkiviades   Send PM to Alkiviades Blog
 


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