:-"
You arrive as always, short on time and money…
(committed to others that want -and want from you(
you being the one with resources
(forward you trudge. You slump under the weight of your thoughts: that lumbering swirl of booze and exhaustion.
There’s always the talking cure. But explain as you will, the limp trajectory of words will only testify to lost libido: that which found a flow, and flowed away.
Your fantasies, forced and fewer in between, do nothing; so you fuck yourself in the shower, not out of love, but the desperate desire to feel desire, an act of will in the face of declining expectations. You cum, but nothing comes of it -not even release. And release from what?
And given your new found freedom, that is from passion, logic would seem the next grand act, the next performance; but the premises take you nowhere, and the predicates, given the multiple possibles of what a thing “is”,make them more than you can bare.
This poem, perhaps, is the only consolation you get.
You should have left it, it was good… it made me feel how you must have felt at the time… the rawness of emotion…
First of all, Thanks, Mag. The fact that it is your opinion makes it all that more important to me.
That said, I’m having a hard time with the way words come together for me lately. It use to feel a little more energetic and rockstarish when I was younger. Now it feels like I’m just fumbling around trying to get back to something. It use to be that my poems were more colorful the way that Plath was in her imagery. (I’ll try to post some of them when I get a chance.) But now they feel more like Bukowski which would be a good thing if I had the same confidence he did in doing so.
But where I do give myself credit is in the rawness you mention: especially concerning the part about the shower. It’s embarrassing: but a man doing such a thing in such way (that particular part came pretty spontaneously) really says something about his emotional state. One could almost imagine such a thing in a movie. And it’s one more reason to respect your opinion on this.
But I’m thinking about folding it in to a bigger piece in which the narrator is driving his son home from his counselor that he has to see because of probation due to truancy. The son, because of probation, can’t smoke pot, so he is chattering at the narrator (about his dreams, the women he is fucking, partying, and fast cars) who is thinking about how the world will tear down his son’s enthusiasm.
it would be like 2 fantasies in parallel.
it’s the rhythms that are really bothering me.
There was critic I once read that said he always knew when a writer was drunk when he wrote what he did. I can’t remember his name.
But I sometimes come up with things that only seem to work when I’m drunk:
the poem The Pragmatist Holds His Knife to the Sacred Cow
And Petitions the Nietzschean Players
for instance.
?: but then would it be such a bad thing to create things people can only enjoy while they’re drunk…
I mean some philosophers create things that can only be enjoyed while sober -take Quine, for instance.
why shouldn’t we create pleasurable things for people who are simply seeking pleasure?
and will turn to drink to get it?
That is in a way that is as non-functional as one could possibly get?
While there are many ways of standing up to the Beast of Capitalism,
wouldn’t that be as legitimate one as any?
Anyway, thanks, Mag!
Watching you work on this board is your poetry for me.
(that forward tilt
[size=85]…[/size].[size=85]…[/size].[size=85]…[/size].
…
!!! u girl
…u!
2 will
…is to want
.
2 love…
is 2 know
to want…
is 2 will
as much as i love this jam:
u gotta love sleep
…
Mag?
Let’s get back to the OP (original point
and recognize that we are here to have fun.n.n…n…n…n…n.