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The Fruit of Rejection

cameos

I submitted this poem to a Los Angeles poetry journal, and naturally they rejected it, so I decided to edit it and add some.

Cumming of a Creed

What we need

Is the cumming

Of a creed:

 

A doctrine of divinity that

Hurls human from slumber

With

Word thunder,

Instantaneous

To strikes of wonder.

 

It’s near.

 

An over-

Bearing,

Catastrophic

Dogma;

 

Or whatever

Your spirit animal.

 

It shall be of us,

By us,

For us,

In the Abrahamic tradition.

 

It shall encompass

Perfection,

And end compass

Directions

 

Guiding us astray

To the ashtrays

Of our minds

Where thoughts are pinched out

Embers

Laying in heaps

Of perceptual filters,

Yet shielding the Formica countertop

Of life

From collecting dust.

 

It shall explode

Explode

**EXPLODE**

Upon the Hiroshima

Of humdrum humanity,

And

The Nagasaki

Of dismal dailies.

 

It shall be a specter haunting. You erupt

27 years later

When the values

That vested you

Are vaporized off your body by

Napalm napalm napalm napalm napalm

During Vietnamese Kodak moments

That warp your face

Into Edvard Munch hallucinations

Of harrowing beauty.

 

It shall Socratically “WHY?” you

While you worry “why YOU?”

Until your ever present thoughts

Strip the Y U

From intellectual ubi-quity,

And you declare “I know nothing”

For the second time.

 

It shall deflower your comprehension

With Joycean oceans

Of cryptic cry,

And it won’t call the next day.

Or the next.

 

It shall be

Crowley

Circling above

The flower of truth,

Waiting to descend

Once “what thou wilt”

Wilts petals into wonder.

 

And word thunder

Will rumble

As long as

Tongues tumble,

And tongues tumble

All down to the bottom,

Because even this

Fall has an autumn.

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Excuses

So, over the past month I have graduated college, accepted a fulltime job doing marketing for a software company, bought a new car, and my girlfriend has moved in with me. Despite these time-sucking life changes I am still trying to find time to write for myself. One of the hardest things in growing up is finding accommodation for your passions under the ever-growing weight of responsibilities. My dwindling time spent on poetry, skateboarding, guitar, etc. is what some would call a bummer, but so it goes.

My blog posts have been infrequent and short over the past month, but I haven’t lost all hope. On the rare occasion I get personal inspiration, I’m doing my best to mold it into verse or prose. But for now, I’m going to lazily repost an old poem I wrote that deals with my thoughts before I got into this (actually quite wonderful) mess:

I’m at the comma splice in

Life’s

Run-on-sentence:

Falling from textbooks and chalk,

Crawling toward goodlooks and talk,

Through society’s leatherdark parking lot.

A field of tar,

I yield in car,

Checking dashboard digital

Every five,

Awaiting the ‘open for business,’

Ready for 10,000 tomorrows

Of cell phones

Erupting 7 o’clock seizures

On my magazine massacred bedside.

I fear the predictably punctual

With open arms.

(note: the forth-to-last line should read “6 o’clock seizures”)

Spelling with Spittle

White and blank…

Until now.

 

Now, scuffs

On top

Left:

 

Scuffs drip

Down

Whiteandblank.

 

Drip like slobber

From mouth of

Notallthere.

 

(Infrequent

Come-tos

Slurp back

Mistakes.

 

But,

Inevitable

Dribble

Falls floor.)  

from scuff – to fluff

Four Observations on the Modern Age

1. Life is lived

Behind screen.

So serene from

Couch

Slumped and slouched.

 

2. The foundation

Of life

Is the cell

Phone.

 

3. All things

Stem from

Experience,

But these stems too

Have thorns,

Because experience

Needs no expertise

When it can be Googled.

 

4. The screen

Is a feeling

That is reeling

Us from what

Is real.

Mystery of History

 

Start with the premise:

It’s all been done

End with the conclusion:

To innovate is delusion.

 

The brain of Twain

Developed the maxim,

A historical axiom,

That the recurrence of time

Does not repeat but rhyme.

 

Slant rhymes, I presume, must be included

In history’s wrappings, riddled and clued.

Perfect rhymes are written and glued

By the victors of war –

History’s whores.

 

Or maybe history doesn’t

Rhyme at all,

Nor does it have a Dal segno.

Rather, history is an echo

Off the walls of Plato’s cave.

 

Getting Physical

He led me to a room.

Behind he closed the door.

He asked if I take off my shirt,

And bring my pants down to the floor.

______________________

He looked me up and down,

And brought his hands upon my chest.

He told me to bend over,

And then to take a breath.

(It was then I knew I had no escape;

I was trapped inside his nest)

______________________

My eyes bounced nervously around the room

And landed on his toys.

He picked one up and got behind me

Making an unfamiliar noise.

______________________

I stood up straight and dropped my drawers.

He placed his hand where light gets lost.

I did exactly what he said

And turned my head and coughed…

Living Through Chemistry

Chemistry is everything, nothing isn’t chemistry,

Bonds bounce through our brain.

Making us laugh, sniffle, sigh, cry, fuck, eat, wonder, act, react, this, that, on, and on

Making us go insane.

Chemicals are everywhere, housed in matter,

But it doesn’t matter.

No matter what we know,

All is the same.

 

We know only of making things

As means to know more about making more things.

There are no ends, only means.

Everything is mean!

An eventual regression to the mean.

“I thought she was a great person… until we hung out more.

I then realized that she was a waste of time.”

That’s because you didn’t collect enough samples at the beginning.

You needed more data.

Only then could all her qualities collapse into average.

Everything is average.

Mediocre.

Outliers are only there to make you question:

“?”

But in the mean-time, ordinarily, I’m usually typically average,

and questioning?

Words of Wisdom

The things that almost happen

Don’t even make a dent in the earth.

It’s the things that are, is and be

That are is to be given any worth.

Certainty

Have you ever been so certain of something,
only to find that you were completely wrong?

It’s so liberating.

A weight of responsibility
lifts from your shoulders,
Because you make mistakes too.
You play the role of human in this production.

It’s even greater when you think you know something,
then you find out your wrong,
then you find out you were originally right in the first-place.

“Well am I really correct,
do I hold the truth of the situation,
or will my perceptions once again flip.
Now I can‘t rightfully know ANYTHING,
can I?”

This offers the greatest sense of emancipation
from the network of truth.
Weaved into web,
sticky network,
waiting to pull you in.

But upon realizing you’re not at all infallible,
your certainty gets pulled back and spread out,
the way the tide roles in and take a sand castle.

You become not only separate from the network of truth,
but you simultaneously become the network.
And knowing that you’re part of it,
allows you to rise above it; while at the same time questioning
if you really know that you’re part of it in the first place.

Epistemology – a philosophical branch closely tied to ontology that studies everything;
because everything is thought.
And the limits of thought define the boundaries of everything.

It is somewhat disheartening
to come to terms with the truth that all of these ideas thus presented
have already been thought about before.
None is wholly original.
It’s like, what use do I have writing this down when I could go read books on this topic.
Books that would map out my own ideas better than I ever could.

Not that the books know me better than I know me,
it’s that my ideas are not part of me. I don’t own the rights (I’ve yet to develop an original product).
They are part of the collective.
Thoughts and ideas are communal.
They rely on the existence of other people-generating-ideas to exist themselves.

I can’t build a house without the supplies provided to me by other people;
And the underline structure of each house will be loosely based off houses before it
and is not wholly original.
Similarly, I can’t build an idea
without the language/supplies/ideas provided to me by other people.

True independence can only be achieved upon death,
but even then
one relies on the bacteria and worms to facilitate the next step,
which is decomposition.

No one is independent, but we’re all individual.

Everyone is a snowflake,
with our own intricate pattern,
similar yet unique to the others around it,
and we’re falling into one big mound of snow.
The universe is snow.
Everything in the universe is a fluttering flake,
temporarily suspended in the fall to oblivion.

Yet, it’s only a matter of time before I find all this to be untrue.

The Break Down

This tile, “The Break Down,” can allude to an array of different topics and directions that this blog post can escape into. For instance, I could be talking about the importance of breakdowns in a piece of metal music. Or, I might be talking about mental collapse. Maybe I’m having car trouble…

Rather, I would like to “break down” my last post so that it doesn’t go largely misunderstood. Parts of it are incredibly esoteric and other parts are written in my own word codes. Hence, I feel it necessary to “break down” my word reasons in my last poem so that I don’t experience mental collapse and, consequently, break down. I’m still going to leave some parts of the poem unanswered – as one man said in the obscenity trial of Ginsberg’s Howl, “Poetry can’t be translated into prose. That is why it is poetry.” – but I do think that there are some inherent historical examples within the poem that need mentioning. This might be moderately conceited for me to do, but so it goes. So here is the poem, again, with the director commentary turned on:

Cumming of a Creed

What we need

Is the cumming of a creed:

A doctrine of divinity that

Shakes human from slumber:

Words of thunder

Instantaneous

To the strike of wonder:

There are no seconds to count (counting time between lightning and thunder)

Between what comes forth:

And what comes fourth

Is always wonder,

Preceding

Curiosity, amazement, bafflement.

 

Wonder is the most common

Denominator amongst demigods

Such as ourselves.

 

Ourselves as barb ells

Of differing masses:

For we all possess

Sharp, measuring minds (“barbs” are sharp – “ells” measure)

With their own

Gravitational pull. (the gravitational pull of an object depends on its mass)

Impatience and

Low tolerance to time

Has left us lightwaits. (one who does not like to wait)

Forever abandon the now,

And start the next,

Forever.

 

Beginning next

This creed shall be of us,

By us,

For us,

In the Abrahamic tradition. (“…of the people, by the people, for the people…” is from the Gettysburg Address, spoken by “Abraham” Lincoln. I’m playing off the Christian, Jewish and Islamic Abrahamic traditions.   

It shall encompass

Perfection,

And end compass

Directions.

 

It shall guide us astray

To the ashtrays

Of our minds

Where thoughts are pinched out

Embers

Laying in heaps

Of perceptual filters,

Yet shielding the Formica countertop

Of life

From collecting dust.

 

It shall explode

Explode

**EXPLODE**

Upon the Hiroshima

Of humdrum humanity,

And

The Nagasaki

Of dismal dailies. (dropings of the atomic bombs in WWII)

It shall be a specter haunting. You erupt (Marx’s Communist Manifesto starts off, “There is a specter haunting Europe – the specter of communism.” Vietnam War was a war against Communists)

27 years later (amount of time between WWII and Vietnam War)

When the values

That vested you

Are vaporized off your body by

Napalm napalm napalm napalm napalm

During Vietnamese Kodak moments (famous picture of little girl with clothing burned off by napalm during the Vietnam War. Google “Vietnam napalm” and you’ll find it.)

That warp your face

Into Edvard Munch hallucinations (Edvard Munch painted “The Scream.” The facial expression in the painting looks similar to the faces in the napalm picture.)

Of harrowing beauty.

 

It shall Socratically “WHY?” you (Socratic method of asking “why?” repeatedly)

While you worry “why YOU?”

Until your ever present thoughts (“ever present” = ubiquitous)

Strip the Y U

From intellectual ubi-quity, (take away the Y and U, and your left with bi-quit. To quit twice.

And you declare “I know nothing” (quote attributed to Socrates)

For the second time.

 

It shall deflower your comprehension

With Joycean oceans (James Joyce used a lot of poetic codes and riddles in his writing)

Of cryptic cry,

And it won’t call the next day.

Or the next.

 

It shall be

Crowley (Aleister Crowley, but also an allusion of a circling crow of death)

Circling above

The flower of truth,

Waiting to descend

Once “what thou wilt” (“Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law” – Aleister Crowley)

Wilts petals into wonder.

 

And word thunder

Will rumble

As long as

Tongues tumble,

And tongues tumble

All down to the bottom,

Because even this

Fall has an autumn.