Reflections in a Fun House Mirror

[An example of my stream of consciousness prose/poetry. At the time, I would often use this writing style as a Rorschach to find out what was bubbling under the surface of my mind. Sort of a psychological diagnostic I did on myself. On occasion, it became less an inner roadmap and more a cohesive (in my subjective opinion) stand alone piece. This was one such.

I’m amused to note my early media criticism woven into this as well. The tone of cynical idealism is ill-fitting but, hey, I've never claimed perfection of vision or execution for my poetry. I was just trying to express something almost nonverbal so I tried to bend the language and form to suit the attempt. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.

As may be obvious, not everything I'm posting here I would consider my best work. I decided to scan in some of my old "finished" poetry and, as the spirit moves me, I post a piece with some commentary. I feel even my failures are worth at least a cursory dissection and analysis from my vantage point decades later.

So why do it in public? Do I crave humiliation and brickbats? Am I looking for applause and admiration? I don't think any of those apply but I'm not certain. I note that I'm doing more of this while at the same time letting my more political blog DemiOrator relax a little. The rigors of critical thought are often tiring for me. Poetry, even just reading and posting it, engages other parts of my mind. Even though it is language, in my poetic process I use rhythm, visual and auditory maps, pattern creation, et cetera. It's relaxing for me. I feel at ease with creating and processing these verbal constructs, much more so than strictly linear writing and thought. It's a hobby, my fun and games. I'm sharing it here because I find it amusing and hope someone else might find it so.

And if you're offended by some of my words, I might suggest you look elsewhere for your Hallmark Moments™. I am unlikely to describe them here.]


Reflections in a Fun House Mirror
(or: civilization as a sadosexual oral fixation)

jacked off/up revved up motor/morals revolving rotating faster faster shift into another gear into another level of status pyramid levels building higher and higher (the fourth estate watches) clinging to a vision of the right world of a utopian reality badlands never see daylight (the fourth estate knows) kept hidden on darkroom floors they (the dystopian badlands) are limited to real victims not the cameras microphones and subtle editing room mechanics (society erodes and i only laugh) who do not want to see bodies pumped full of bullets or the insides of jail cells or raped women (out of sight out of mind) tasting the real world and excising nauseous parts to make it more palatable/bland and lacking exciting tastes repe­tition dulling visions/dreams (forgetting) the savoury tang from licking idealistic cunts and cocks (forgotten) the liquor of regeneration...

...i swallowed my pureblood purebred visions some time ago not being able to take the schism created with reality but it didn't seem to change anything (the heartless still chew on the skin and bones of the helpless and vampyrize my soul...)

(...thrust rip skip-to-my-lou darling dangling jugular)(waiting for attachment...)

waiting,

inarticulate screaming;

can you understand the wordless sound?
did you even hear it?

(people are dying of starvation,
(right now, close to where you live
(and all over the world...)

why don't you eat them?
everyone else seems to...

June, 1978

© 2006, wordlackey for php