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tremolo.


"The anti-master man, floribund ascetic."

-------WALLACE STEVENS

Myself the great anti-master who meets, one day
a life---in anti-questions---as weak-
-as his own, decides---yes, yes,
 
yes, that he is, verisimilarly, the answer to what
makes a life from things, as this,---
a life: of sad phantoms: for
 
him to dissect no longer,---despite that it is, quite
so, the right time to dissect; make
lives from limits. In
 
living some self out. In blooming out the clash---or,
conflict---a myself-as-answer becomes
a myself-as-catalyst for
 
the quest to gag a dry throat with: welling words,
corrupt in their very cycled trying for
what is beyond parturiency,
 
never asking for the master of cycles to dignify
a word or two---if even in jest---for an-
-honorable sublimeness’s sake
 
and, understated, a vague and weary whistling, just
to hear the whistling: of mad music---and,
woven trends: and, ostensibly,
 
to still sportive blood: chunked somewheres in my dark,
pressing brain: well: collect the chalky,
bulky planets’ hulk backwards,
 
says the anti-question, one of many, saying a thing, at
times, with a mercurial sort of rage
in the havoc of dull keys
 
tapped, banged on bright pianos and with violence: and:
in the confusion of a damasking,
in frilly picot,
 
the master-key might emerge like a fringed guess and,
finally, lose the style and
portend a content
 
so important as to address the bright WORLD in-
-gaming for the questions
unanswerable; so, then,
 
a bit tired of their shaky lot, though far
removed from, incessant, the
wither of keys that sing
 
an anti-master’s own ambivalence in seeking-
-for life’s lifting off into reality:
the realness of a deep and
 
profuse cotton-content: and still as vast, as fast:
no, no, no: vaster; faster in its quality,
expansive seeing-
 
-even, than myself. And all stacks a broad layer, yes,
yeah: of some truth, dissembled, perturbed:
still as lucid, not-
 
-as close: hopping off into the solar system. Some old,
Big, big question braces for the dramatic-
-shift and swivels
 
like a head on a stick and not at all like a master's-
-anti-being. He's in me, apart and in,
shadowed by a crude
 
schism: but: all these damned elements go forth.
They chase the product, the final,---a
union of a trembling
 
mystic's fault, yes, and not on me; it is not
on me to take the damn blame. To wring
the fierceness at first
 
staggering dry: dry, with desperate planets
in jeopardy of losing truth's dusty
doggedness, paused, going,
 
and at last interposed there as would a fly:
in the room: I think of a gigantic-
-yawn of power in that small
 
fry: that noticed presence: pleasant, somewhat,
though as death’s portal typified.
All things endure; this will,
 
will endure and feed the pangs. And yet, the pangs
derive: from a strange and childish
haranguing: of this temple-
 
piece. This temple of a cotton-tweed anti-master man,
humbling in his fluid floundering,
his wishy-washy maculateness,

weltering well, runs a strait of conference across.
 
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
 
Planets enduring: held together, jankily, with some
kinda wowed silence: propitiated-
-by preachers,
 
perspiring, once done with evil, brimstone:
this, this is in-between saying,
but saying-
 
-despite; so then, making the reader work to
explain with innuendo. And,
of course,
 
revel: in busted minutes of bafflement, as like
a surprise of consciousness;
even though,
 
truly, whatever pace kept, if the judge be too
optimistic, suffocates and goes
out,---which,
 
really, is the point. Myself really wants to
make readers O.K. with the fugue:
wowed silence,
 
after the sketchy speech: throat-spasms-
-for that ultimate politician to
build buildings
 
for, buildings of quandary and mouthed like
vague utterance: window to some
innuendo: made of
 
great knowledge, dignity, faith: some apeshit
soul out there must know the
goddamned location;
 
must see his nothing and all. And all the vast
questions: all the answers
are made, yeah, out-
 
-of naught, but spirals: shitty ellipses: but,
I am starting, slowly: to go at
a different velocity;
 
indeed, to speak before spoken to, send askew
messages at first quite sensible;
abort no longer,
 
but, see that I live out endless death,
implode the first death more
into a stillness:
 
small, crushed, wadded: what of common
threads of thought, eh?
Something, barely
 
unearthed and found to be uninteresting,
even though, for so long,
hidden, shrouded
 
in some alleged mystery until I knew and
finally that that mystery
was the focus and
 
source of the intrigue, and, though-
-crudely it sent forth odd
messages could
 
not translate well, could not be
captivating, was left as
some labyrinth
 
of bullshit overcome very long
ago,---now, resurfacing:
however out
 
of place the situation then was
in terms of it's popping
up out of
 
nowheres: giving pain a chance to
not be anticipated,---thus,
manufactured:


Last edited by satanicdoctor, Mar/17/2012, 11:29 am
Mar/17/2012, 10:04 am Link to this post Send Email to satanicdoctor   Send PM to satanicdoctor Blog
 
Christine98 Profile
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Re: tremolo.


hi doc, (can I call you doc?)

Third time through this and continue to be struck by the following:

...the right time to dissect; make
lives from limits, In

living some self out. In blooming out the clash--or,

conflict--a myself-as-answer becomes
a myself-as-catalyst for


and

Myself really wants to
make readers OK with the fugue


and THIS:

Planets enduring: held together, jankily, with some
kinda wowed silence: propitiated--
--by preachers


and

...popping
up out of

nowheres: giving pain a chance to
not be anticipated---thus,
manufactured:


Some very arresting language and imagery. imo, needs judicious pruning.

Chris

 

Mar/18/2012, 10:22 am Link to this post Send Email to Christine98   Send PM to Christine98
 
queenfisher Profile
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Re: tremolo.


really liked this part:

collect the chalky,
bulky planets’ hulk backwards,
  
says the anti-question, one of many, saying a thing, at
times, with a mercurial sort of rage
in the havoc of dull keys
  
tapped, banged on bright pianos and with violence: and:
in the confusion of a damasking,
in frilly picot,
  
the master-key might emerge like a fringed guess and,
finally, lose the style and
portend a content
  
i think it needs some serious pruning - it's difficult to stay focused - & it's by no means an easy read. (at least not for me)
Mar/19/2012, 6:01 am Link to this post Send Email to queenfisher   Send PM to queenfisher Blog
 
sambyfield Profile
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Re: tremolo.


Hi there, and welcome to the site.

I too struggled with this - got down to the 5th tercet before giving up. Both language and grammar remained inaccessible to me, with result that i've little idea what you're trying to say.

Do you have anything more accessible you can share?

sam
Mar/19/2012, 6:15 pm Link to this post Send Email to sambyfield   Send PM to sambyfield
 
satanicdoctor Profile
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Re: tremolo.


hey there,


first off, thanks everyone above for commenting. If you want to see some more lyrical and (to me) accessible work, check out my blog on here. I'm doing the poem a day challenge and so far the newer drafts of everything ive posted on chalkboard im happy with. I'll be sure to check out some voices on here, i havent had a lot of time recently but i want to start a dialogue! anyhoo, thanksss----satdoc
Mar/19/2012, 6:30 pm Link to this post Send Email to satanicdoctor   Send PM to satanicdoctor Blog
 


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