Make me the best internet man.

Mozzletoff.

If I said I wasn't a bit drunk when I wrote this free style rant in poetry's clothing, I'd be lying. That said....

This was inspired by the tsunami sized new wave of the uninspired around the poetry community, specifically darkpoetry.com. I've seen alot of rerun poetry, and same-old-same-old ideals regurgitated again and again by so many "poets". How many have neglected the real, beloved core of poetry, the actual poem, for eyecatching titles, and bells and whistles. Name drops, for the sake of sounding cultured.

I tried to inforce alot of my humour by being hypocritical on purpose. the word play is the bells, and that T.S. Eliot reference was my whistle, if you know what I mean. Then there's that Don Mclean song structure showing up at the end. Did you catch that? That's another little eyecatcher that I threw down. I got the smiles from that one, it just FIT, it was awesome. Like a really good jam out.

Writing this was alot of fun for me

I didn't want to just come straight out and bitch (but I guess I getting close to it now, as it is) and call people hacks and novice, so yeah, I went the more abstract route, at the risk of comming off as arrogant, or pretentious... hahaha.

I also used it as an excuse to play around with words, and how words sound together and look. Not really an experiment, so much as a challange to myself. I took a more songwriter's stance on it, which is why those last seven or so lines show up. It's a little back-stab homage to that Don McLean song, American pie.

Bye, bye miss american pie
drove my chevy to the levee
but the levee was dry...

and what not. I thought it was kind of funny. Like I said, it just fit.

And sinix. Like I said, I was pretty drunk, and I couldn't remember how to spell the word 'cynics' I think I was spelling it at first like sinick, or something, and I said, no that's not right. Finally, I said fuck it. Spelled it sinix, and said yeah, that even sounds edgy. Rock and roll, me with my drunk self.

so, the cynics robbed beating hearts blind, or whatever I said. Yeah, cats outa the bag. I cheated. Can't spell a word? Fuck it. Change the word.

The Clue references, I don't know how that wound up in there. I started, and it just sounded good to me so I kept it going.

So yeah, this was just an off the cuff experiment in wordplay, and an excuse to bitch and moan about the newbies, who don't read anything but their own poetry, and use too much a/b structure, and way too much melodrama for the sake of sounding melodramatic.

Hahaha. ME complainging about too much melodrama in poetry, is that hypocritical or what?

Anyway, that's the scoop.

In closing, I just want to say, everytime a fourteen year old writes a poem about suicide in structured rhyme, god punches an angle in the face. HARD.

Thanks for reading man. You too, CJ.

a'woady-woady.

Hahaha. It doesn't get any better.

Snap.

"abstract & unreal, as warped as the
tragedy landscape of tragic teddy bears"

That was cool. I got this great image of a vally of limp teddybears, all torn and missing eyes, there's something sinsister and sad about that, like the shoes in the hollocaust museum.

"...and unholy things"
that line gave me the shivers.

Most definately for my baby.

Fun stuff. I dig the words "requiem", and "antique". Great tone setters.

This poem is beautiful. Especially here.

We weild the force.

Oh, wow. Chills.

It really does give you the feeling of walking through a painting.

"this is where I found Van Gogh sketching flowerbeds
as pale girls plucked the bruised throats
of bell flowers
and wild iris grew spirals of star petalled fingers
upon sidewalk canvas"

You have this way of making me jealous. But in a good way. Like, "damn, I wish I'd written that." And then again, I don't. Because when I write something, I don't really enjoy reading it. And I'll be comming back to this one a bunch, fo sho.

Write the hell on.

Beautiful.

Says something about all man kind. It's just muffled. Talking around a mouthfull again