Writing Weirdness...

Stream of consciousness activities in class can be dangerous... *chuckles*


Untitled (stream of consciousness)
(Written: Feb 19, 2009)

stream of consciousness
in psych
stuck in my head
the rest of the day
caused lots of giggles later
until the quiet came,
library and lab closed
sweet solitude to study in
but first
finish mathness
evil...
tormenting...
worthless...
mathness
rather have a root canal
but glaring doesn't get it done
slog through
nonsensical numerals
that have no bearing in life
trying not to find
cathartic joy
in
mental images
burning math books
instructors
covered in blood
eventually mathness ends,
yay!
mind turns
towards happier things
flirting,
fellating,
fucking,
yum!
but studying
must wait
fiesty muse tonight
demanding attention
giggling for her fair share
of mind
interrupted
by taps on glass
young classmate from psych
finally out of lab
so late
she's sweet
off limits
sixteen
will get ya twenty
good thing they can't see inside
mind and muse, twisted fucks
pushy muse pulls back
and so the 'poem' ends.

Writing Weirdness...

Bleeeeeeeh.


Untitled (loathing)
(Written: Sept 15, 2008)

New friend a kindred soul
vulnerable moments
trusting, discussing,
of all things poetry...
I loathe my poems
never reach perfection
raw, uncensored, toxic
the words never quite "right"
always lacking something, somehow
bittersweet venomous addiction
but I'm moved to write
let fly my fingers as they will
growling and grumbling afterward
like some proddy mama bear
discontented with too energetic cubs in fall
only hopeful that everything
will settle
and let me rest.

Writing Weirdness...

*hrms* Right... so ... this is just ... yeah.


Called From The Depths
(Written: Sept 16, 2006)

Call it a poem, a plea, a prayer, a promise...
I don't know.
A Muse I don't like is with me.
I never like it when she's here,
won't settle for anything less than black,
dragging it up from the depths,
deeper than I want to know,
deeper than I want to go,
clawing to the surface until it reaches the tips of my fingers...
and explodes.
Frenzy of typing,
one hundred words per minute,
of what?
Of what?!
There's a point in it,
somewhere,
I know there is,
there has to be,
but she never gives a hint,
never a single clue...
Bitch!!!
So I close my eyes and type,
type until she says to stop,
typing, typing, typing,
and the energy I'm releasing keeps even the cats away.
Why does she visit me, always,
a few days after a really good purging,
why can't she ever just leave me alone?
What's the point?
Tormenting, demanding bitch!
But I can't resist,
I don't have the energy and I'm not hungry.
Eyes still closed,
typing, typing, typing,
always typing,
fucking cunt, let me just curl up!
Alone, under cold covers of comfort with a mountain of pillows...
I didn't sleep well.
Words a maelstrom in my mind,
all night, tossing and turning...
so here I am now,
typing, typing, typing,
waiting for her to be satisfied,
pushy demon Whore!
I don't want to be here, I really don't...
I don't even know why,
right now, sometimes, usually, anytime...
I don't have any energy to fight right now
I don't..
I don't know...
I don't know...
I don't know.
Damn it all I don't know!
I Don't KNOW!

... that pretty much sums it up.

Writing Weirdness...

Insert pithy comment here. *winks*


Moon (tentative working title)
(Written: June 24, 2005)

Dark this morning,
cloudy sky,
it's barely a quarter to six,
cool,
quiet,
not much traffic today...
In the sky - the only clear space - is the moon,
still full and bright and beautiful...
I can't help smiling as She looks down on me,
gaze gentle, motherly tender, missing me...
I miss the moon,
the stars,
the night,
this daytime life doesn't really suit me,
too bright,
too warm,
too noisy,
too frantic,
too full,
... but ...
there's people in the day,
... but ...
was never fond of big groups really,
... but ...
I'm too solitary,
too silent,
too willing to be alone...
without the day I could nearly forget my voice...

... but ...

I miss the night.

Writing Weirdness...

My brain functions in strange ways...


Untitled (therapy)
(Written: June 3, 2005)

Lactic acid buildup...
I should be sweating but I'm not,
I shouldn't be numb but I am,
numb to the physical, the emotional,
numb to the heart, to life.
Breathe in, out, in, out, breathe...
Pulse at one twenty, I'm impressed,
only took an hour to get here,
one, two, one, two, left, right, left, right, keep going...
Fragments of thought blowing away...
Where did this breeze come from?
I shouldn't be here but I am, I'm not,
I am, I'm not, this isn't poetry
it's therapy for the suicidal soul,
shattered, don't think, don't feel, don't exist,
just write, just breathe, just pulse,
left, right, one, two, in, out...

Writing Weirdness...

And now back to some more of those "word poems", cuz I'm feeling all evil and stuff. ;)

"Watch"

Wondering
At
The
Consciousness of
Humanity.


"Sexual"

Sometimes
Every
Xylophone
Undergoes
A
Little rearranging.


"Writer"

Words
Really
Interest
Their
Every
Realm.


"Mourns"

May
Our
Uneasy
Response
Not
Sadden others.


"Moon"

Many
Often
Overlook
Necessity.

Writing Weirdness...

Another non-"word poem"!! ;)


Untitled (bus stop poem)
(Written: June 1, 2005)

Walking through clover, sun warming my back,
dark clouds over the northern mountains,
thoughtful, contented expression ... nearly content...
Hydraulic doors exhale, closing behind me,
avoid the stiff, stony unyielding cement,
spring green calling to my steps.
Clean grass scent obscured by exhaust fumes
I breathe shallow through the nose, filtering,
always filtering - air, heart, thought, life...
Time - evil, impartial, dispassionate time,
too little time, too much time.. to think
as I walk towards metal monstrosity
trees shaped of cold iron,
unbreathing, unreal, unappealing -
who created this bus stop 'art'
that mimics nature,
offends the soul?
Mind wandered, slipped
reflective as office building glass,
glaring beneath desert sun, smile gone...
Awareness verging on depressed
discontent as I wait, impatient...
Clouds part, sun shining through - a natural accusation -
a bee hovers near my arm,
I, the only flower on this 'tree' bench,
poor confused little bug
I smell sweet, I'm not food...
he flies off, my lips quirk, almost smile,
nature understands my heart
... and the bus arrives.

Writing Weirdness...

Another non-"word poem"! :)

Colours (tentative working title)
(Written: May 2005)

I feel like I'm marinating in sweat
and I don't care
there's so much colour right here!
A lovely soft breeze,
shade through the trees
and birds and butterflies and me.
The sky's a bright, clear blue,
leaves a crisp green,
bark a strong brown
and I'm sitting between
a lake dazzling like diamonds
and flowers glistening like gold
the only hint of black and white
is the paper and pen in my hands,
everything else is vibrantly between
shades of life, reality,
despite the dreamy quality
of sitting on lush grass,
enjoying the breeze.

Writing Weirdness...

So without further ado here's something not a 'word poem'. (Bet you were getting sick of them right? *hehe*)


Fading Circle
(Written: May 29, 2005)


Love so thick, enveloping,
it courted forgetfulness,
loss of self, integrity, life...
Trust so deep, encompassing,
it married manipulation,
eyes open blindness, subtle strife...
Betrayal,
raw and shocking,
calculating and complete...
Rage and pain, confusion,
waking from a dream...
Time needed to process, comprehend,
awareness comes so slowly, every day swiftly gone,
unyielding time won't bend...
Anger fading, wounds pinken,
deeper healing than expected begins...
Realization dawns, self awakening,
knowledge washes through, over,
sluicing trauma off the soul...
A new day, cloudy, sun shining through, fingers of Life...
and the rawness fades.

Writing Weirdness...

Some more of the "word poems"...

"Suicidal"

Seriously
Underactive
Impulse
Control
In keeping
Death
Always
Long off.


"Home"

Having

Only
My own
Environment.


"Lust"

Love
Under
Strict
Terms.


"Hair"

Hair
Art
Is in,
Really.


"Book"

Beyond
Our
Overt
Knowledge.


"Love"

Love
Overwhelms
Virtually all
Existence.


"Fear"

For-
Ever
Are we
Rapidly breathing.


"Word'

Worried
Over
Radioactive
Demons.


"Pain"

Please
Answer me
Incomprehensibly
Never.

Writing Weirdness...

So I mentioned, when I did that blog about what my themes were going to try to stick to, that I would sometimes post my own poems or writing. So I've decided to start with this, mostly cuz since it's my blog I can do that ye see. *smiles* I'm not looking for critiques and will probably mostly ignore them, but if ya wanna say that you love my writing, you're confused by it or it's shit that you loathe... that's totally cool. (Hell, I don't like my poetry myself, I even did a poem about that, which I'll post... eventually.)

So I'm starting with "word poems". Each of these was written over the course of one particular week, sometime in the early summer (most likely May) of 2005... some of them for absolutely no apparent reason of any kind. The 'note' below was also something written at that same time. Oh and this is just some of them, there was like thirty of them. I'll probably post a few more next week or something...

Note: There are multiple millions of words in the English language, a good number of which are 'foreign', with new ones being added every day. If I were to try to fill a single book with poems purely for / of words I could work several lifetimes, write millions of tiny blurbs and never come close to finishing.

"Dichotomy"

Dual
Impulses
Control
How
Our
Thoughts
Operate
Much of the
Year.



"Waiting"

While
Attempting
It
Try to
Invent
New
Games.



"Poetry"

Possibilities
Often
Exceed
The
Realities
You accept.



"Friend"

For
Remembering
Incessantly
Every
Naughty
Detail.



"Patience"

Putting
All
The
Interests
Ever-ready
Near
Controlling
Employment.



"Clownish"

Cheerfully
Lowers
Our
Worries
Naturally
Inspiring
Smiling
Happiness.