Saturday, February 28, 2009

Recyclable Language

I've written enough selfish love poems
on foolscap Chinese lantern craft paper
to tip the balance
in the battle against Green Peace
and since I'd rather be on their side
I'm giving that up
so this is not a love poem
this is a petition
that was written on
recycled cardboard
with broken corners
from too many hands' use
because we've all had this idea
but perhaps gotten a bit confused
by the muse we met shopping for beige capris
at Wall-mart

the idea that "Love Is A Battlefield"
and that we need to hide
from the bruises of our Lovers
wear "Boy's Night Out" like body armour
and play poker to play off
our responsibilities to expectation
expecting that saying
"I love you"
means I'll mold myself to you and
you to me
until two becomes three
and we bear the bastard child of
forced fidelity between us
bear it like infidelity
bear it like, damn!
Why'd I ever say, "I love you"?

was it your super-rad purple Converses shoes?
your emo-core tattoos?
the loose strand of hair that
hung there?

did you ensnare me again
in the complex web of romantic dynamics?
the ones we were taught
and bought into without critical though
the ones with the ideas of romantic
unachievable and ever sought
the ones brought over by Turkish poets
and injected into the infected
remains of arcane European
God fearing
Woman hating culture?!
Are you again
the Holy Virgin Mary
begotten by the Magdalene
begotten by the Mandala
begotten by Gaiya
forgotten but for the clay idols
cast in blind female form
little nipples made with torn and dirty finger nails

do you think we needed a feminist movement then?

when the bends and curves of beauty were built on functionality
when a woman not
pinioned up on high-heels
like a cornerstore popsicle
available everywhere
predictable, pre-wrapped and
was yet considered hot!
when expectations of the self-titled "relationship"
had yet to be defined
and the institution
of wedlocking paperwork
had yet to pollute
the formless idea of love
and this boy/girl bullshit
didn't enter into it
no blue job
pink job
no home job
office job
better job
bitter job
not even the language to express the difference
between want
and need
and so true love was born
as we beat the meaning into our chests
hunger = want
desire = want
need = want
and the selfish became beautiful
no room for the convoluted
everything said was true

want you
want you
I want you

Saturday, February 21, 2009


Here's hoping that none of my current employers read my blog:

So, in a never ending quest for change and general escapism from complacency (this sentence structure sucks), I'm becoming a photographer...yep, I'm giving up English teaching (after this contract...) and pursuing something that I've loved all along. In as much, here's a photo:

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

I Like...

I like it when the weatherman stares blankly with that lost expression, standing in front of his green-screen at the end of the report, waiting for the cameras to cut back to the main desk.

I like it when porn stars have pimples on their asses.

I like it when people absently bump into the corner of a shopping mall kiosk and look at it as though it was the corner's fault.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Dead Trees Come Alive

I'm here to pull apart
Le Bonaparte mentality
that's come between you and me
the trinity
two humans and their spirit; three
and I'm sure that you'll agree
never to disagree that a tree is green
and all the things we've seen and done
when divided by the final sum
equal out to one

even the Math Rabbit running
8-bit laps in my mind sees it
and he's from a consciousness of raw logic
Commodore 64
and very little more, you see
we grew tired
and hardwired
on the plastic canvas
and brand this
The Golden Cow
The 电脑 (dian nao / computer)
但是这个有问题 (dan shi zhe ge you wen ti / there's a problem with this)
这个没有 creativity (zhe ge mei you / this doesn't have...)
这个没有 the ability (zhe ge mei you / this doesn't have...)
to see with more than electric eyes
and catalogue eclectic styles
and all the while we model our minds
and build our bodies in the blocky style
of 0's and 1's

the machine flexes its guns
but I can see it's come undone
Frank Booth broke the back off
of knock-off tape decks
torn up and rewired
Ghetto style
because they made a better noise
as they were being destroyed
this is the subconcious reemployed
thought was meant to be enjoyed
not toyed and fucked with
till it fit on a floppy disk
hold up
let me list the risks of thinking that thought is otherwise:
1.) To so compromise our minds might make madness the foreman of art, rather than the other way around
2.) The crown of thorns was worn by he who wanted us to see that we are one. If we forget the battles fought for freedom of thought then it's fair the think that we in turn will bear the burden of a hopeless flight to barbarism.
3.) Without a mind to mix, melodies will sound like this--