Here’s my first time writing a Flarf poem. Let’s see how this goes over in class tonight.

 

Flarf: Lust Ever Fleeting, Love Upholds

The only woman

pioneered

the lone woman.

They

never quite saw her as an equal…

The Girl,

(Art’s first punk),

continues to inspire people.

History has taken a while to catch up to her

repressive attention to detail –

Die

Die training

…And it just works.

Corrosive, cute

art form

To be wrong, awkward

in horror…

I had always felt bad

I wrote what I thought

And it went on like that

Awful poems materialized

More awkward, the “voice” in my head

The results, hilarious monstrosities

Corrosive, awful

“Cute” words

Began to pile up

Baby regrets

Mistakes were made

and moments lost

Isn’t that cute?

If I could just steal away one

tender moment from my past

and trap it in my heart

Baby

Baby

Take the love.

As hot approaches

During the hot months

There will be extended

Hatred

Regular

Hatred.

To receive unconditional love,

illicit affairs

Verify the reason

approving unconditional love.

Picking up on words

Became relatively silent –

I started a “sadness” series,

“The horrible sadness”

“The awful sadness”

“The unending sadness”

Stifling mourning!

Some are silent observers

A kind of joke among “friends”

Others use it to develop longer work.

Warming up,

Perfectly in beat

This is no church.

Sometimes She plays

with no theme

It goes over well –

She will be back,

They know how to fire up a crowd!

“Endurance, intensity, love, and discipline”

I like stories

I also like concepts,

like prayer or ‘acts,’

which means adoration, confession, thanksgiving and supplication –

“Endurance and praise.”

Sometimes Nature plays tricks on us

Fluids flowing up and down the spine

Sometimes

Sometimes,

I play my part on my stage

Sometimes my anger at the fire is evident

Sometimes it is not anger, really.

It may appear as such,

but could it be a clue?

The fire I speak of

is not a kind fire.

There is a story behind that.

There are many stories

Some of them are sad, some funny

Some are stories of madness, of violence.

Some are ordinary.

Yet they all have about them a sense of mystery…

The mystery of life

sometimes the mystery of death.

The mystery of The Woods.

It is beyond the fire

Though few would know that meaning.

Is it funny to you?

Reasons can even explain the absurd.

Sometimes ideas, like men,

jump up and say, “hello!”

They introduce themselves,

these ideas, with words.

Are they words?

These ideas speak so strangely.

All that we see in this world is based on someone’s ideas.

Some ideas are destructive

some ideas can arrive in the form of a dream.

Yes, we are ignorant of many

beautiful things…

things like the truth.

So sadness, in our ignorance, is very real.

One day the sadness will end.

Even the ones who laugh

are sometimes caught without an answer.

Yes, look in the mirror.

Poems are people

not confined

Inappropriate admissions

unlimited goodwill

unlimited!

Speak nature, speak fake

unlimited filthy love.

In a moment of being lost,

bored out my mind!!!

Considerable sensitivity towards all

Organic Passion –

A sentence,

it can suddenly happen

“Is it too much?”

The awkward position of longing

of desiring a total lack of capacity for desire…

One still has the same job in the morning.

Apparitions hover

the beautiful “character”

one searches out

occasions for laughter,

connection

In a moment of being lost in thought,

toe dance of reason

aversion to information

the entrance gates to a world of

grotesques seem to open up.

This is the connection

of being exhilarated with the feeling of doubt.

One traverses the same paths

of thought as before

Only they seem

strewn with roses.

I’ve been holding off from posting these for a little bit now – I think it’s mostly because I wanted them to be a surprise for a bigger project. But due to financial/time constraints I really won’t have an opportunity to do this later so…

2015
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I drank several glasses of strong tea that were labeled ‘proceed with caution’ – I tapped my fingers and clicked my tongue. I fashioned myself an outfit made from dusty doilies and called it a day. My heart began to expand from the inside, with my chest tightening, I knew it would soon explode. I started snapping at children and felt eager to do it again, the numbness I had held for months was going by the wayside. High octane energy was what I needed – yes, yes, yes! It felt good to be angry for no reason and annoyed at the slightest thing – at least now when I would be awake (!) for hours on end I could say I did so purposely and with style (!) …And in the end, when the exploding of my heart would open up my chest cavity – I would be the one solely responsible – lest suffer a half-assed job done by someone else.

“Ya know,” I said to the air, knowing The Specialist was behind me, without having to turn around.

“Ya know, I could very easily burn The Woods down and build a mall while I have all this pent-up energy, just before my heart gives out…”

He nodded.

“I could just as easily let you and build one as I could whistle Dixie. It would just grow back though and eventually ivy would climb all over the architecture, consuming it whole, making a mockery of any and all man-made creation,” he admitted.

I nodded.

“So what now?”

“We could both light the match…” he began.

We made eye contact.

“…Or we could both run away, straight out of The Woods, promising not to look back at each other – ”

“Running out of here in opposite directions?” I prodded.

“Yes, I’ll take the left and you can take the right…”

“…And we’ll go about our lives in order to have some semblance of sanity in our daily routine – ”

“Because life is difficult enough – ”

” …And if we happen to run into each other on the outside, somewhere in the middle, perhaps we could share a chuckle or casually comment on the weather,” I smiled.

“It could be nice…”

“Yeah, I think it really could be.”

We both sighed, shook hands, took turns slapping each other across the face, smiled, and with our fingers crossed behind our backs, proceeded to run for our lives. It was a start.

(ALTERNATIVE ENDING)

Suddenly a wild yellow dog with a determined look in its eye, started nipping at our heels and ended up following me home. A swirling vortex of a black hole appeared out of nowhere, sucking calendars and farm animals into it. By way of no other alternative escape, I jumped in narrowly escaping its paws. I was then drawn into the past, ruining an otherwise poignant and dare I say, positive, ending to this story.

(ALTERNATIVE TO THE ALTERNATIVE ENDING)

The dog managed to take me down and drew blood. I turned into a puppet only functioning with strong emotions.

(ALTERNATIVE TO THE ALTERNATIVE ENDING, ENDING)

My brain grew toned arms that jutted out of my ears. My other miscellaneous and vital organs patched themselves up with duct tape and staples. I bit the dog and everyone else real and/or imagined from the past, present and/or future that ever felt they could take advantage of me. I took a deep breath and journeyed towards something people call ‘inner peace.’

 

tears_1

I had traveled a great distance without so much as a canteen of water to quench me. I had left The Woods in search of some deep and meaningful solitude. I had left no notes, no smoke signals, said no goodbyes, nor held any shards of glass up towards the sun – I wasn’t sure if I could ever, really, truly return to The Woods. I threw my hands up and embraced clouds that dissipated into nothing. My jaw tensed up and I bit myself forty-seven times. I continued my journey down to a beach where nearby trees grew beautiful and taunted the spring season, as if they were hurrying it along. My feet rummaged through hot sand as I got closer to the water’s edge.

It was an awkward way to say hello but I gave myself a pep talk and made my way over to two women chatting. The waves of the sea cascaded my limbs into an adolescent doggy-paddle and despite their noticeable laughter, I knew I had to be near them. The water was littered with letters in bottles and the current was getting stronger as my body grew weaker. I couldn’t construct a visual picture of their faces, they seemed to be floating further and further away, ever gracefully, submitting themselves to the caress of a nature that could just as easily consume them. Arms stretched out, back down, and with their legs lined up forward, they became the property of the ocean. I feared I would never catch up to them. Feverishly pushing past all the bottles and quickly disintegrating pieces of paper, I kicked my legs while I still had enough momentum. Just as I thought I was making progress, I caught a glimpse of an ornate bottle, covered in precious stones. Distracted by what I thought contained an important letter, I reached for it and drowned.

I opened my eyes to the contrary, surviving. Multiple vanity mirrored faces hovered above my now awoken body. They were people with arms and legs and torsos and genitalia but their faces became contorted reflections of mine. I screamed and backed away as abruptly as I could. I closed my eyes, begging for an eternal slumber where perhaps I could have more control over the situation. Blackness fell before me and the Mirror People all fell down into little bits and pieces, shattering their very existences.

tears_2

A talkative man who looked a lot like The Magician, dancing with an unidentified woman in a red ballgown, scratched his head and made a copy of himself dancing with a copied unidentified woman in a red ballgown. They danced around in circles to a sort of trinket box kind of music, not particularly filled with glee or malice. The first version kept dancing, even as all my loved ones got stabbed in the face with forks. The second version stumbled in the darkness, stepping on toes and the second woman fell over. I stared from afar with my mouth agape as every single one of my teeth fell out. A man with a smile kept shoving bibs that read ‘Daddy’s Little Multiracial Lustchild’ in front of my face, grunting heavily, as a friend lingered close by. Somewhere in the distance a familiar face was giving birth to another demon baby. An attractive youth with a dry throat blushed every time he walked up to me, even as I continued to regrow teeth only to loose them, creating a faucet-like effect of blood, enamel, dentin, and pulp down my chin. It was all a lot of hullabaloo and I wondered where the actual love was.

tears_3

 

I opened my eyes and eased my way up to my feet. The ocean was vast and sparkling. I took a deep breath, feeling muscles where muscles had never been felt before. I turned my back and headed back towards The Woods, I was sure I would die there but not without a fight. Besides, I had a few more lives to spare. I laughed at myself repeatedly.

hysterical laughter

 

 

obstructed_reality

I built a podium made of sticks and mud. I held a press conference for all of the birds and beasts in the wilderness. The world was getting smaller and I began to speak of sadness, not judgment. Love was the theme. The Specialist was there along with our mutual friends. Ol’ Bat was tapping her foot to a rhythm in her head. Teenybopper was feeding the ducks. A man with a ring and a woman with a chastity belt got tangled up in a booby trap and I was almost curious enough to go see if they were all right but I figured that would come in time. The Woods would probably devour me before my speech was over but it didn’t really matter anymore.

“The thing about me is that I will always believe in fairy tales even as I’m being constantly reminded that they don’t exist. Don’t you know that I’m your little princess, your loyal dog that continues to get beaten? I can love hard and fast and long and come on too strong all in the name of staking claim over something invisible to the untrained eye. When people look upon my youthful countenance, they pinch my cheeks and flatter me with meaningless compliments often reserved for toddlers and the pitied. ‘You’re so cute,’ is a common phrase uttered by those who think I don’t know how the world works.

I am your child bride and I stand for principles that crumble as soon as doors are closed. I am your bitter old woman that trusts very few. I am typical and pure and evil and joyful and a bundle of controlled rage. I live in the mouths of the forgotten and in the minds who own vast amounts of landscape…”

I was beginning to unravel into nothingness.

“Despite it all, I wish never to become so jaded and disconnected from myself and others that I fail to see any light in this life…” I coughed, failing.

I paused, noticing a flash of multicolored light that temporarily blinded me. I put a hand to my face to help shield my eyes and squinted into the distance.

“LOVE IS MOSTLY PAIN!” shouted a blurry figure dressed in black.

“What?!” I shouted back to an unresponsive audience.

I got off the stage and went searching into the darkness.

x marks the spot_graphs

In this past quarter we’ve noticed a spike in washing tables, holding strong at 85%. 10% of the time is spent complaining about it, knowing full well that “ya do what ya gotta do,” “it could be worse,” “you’ve got a roof over your head and food in your belly” and “blindly accepting the status quo could just save your soul from a trip to a mental institution.” Ambition levels, on a separate scale, of course, are through the roof (this is a trend that despite time and life struggle variables seems to never really change, and in some cases, gets stronger). We call this the Hope Factor. This, when polling our focus group, just doesn’t seem to make any sense. Apparently, the pain associated with multiple failures when trying to “succeed” again and again isn’t their cup of tea. In fact they don’t drink tea, carbonated beverages are more their thing anyway. They later forgot about the survey and went out to get some popcorn.

2% of the time is wasted upon viewing flesh-toned-pixels melting and corroding in piles, pretending there’s a personal connection just to get through it. When probed, stimulation is rarely achieved, because our sensors “know too much.” The other 3% is a myriad of intense thoughtfulness, problem solving (on an accurate scale), daydreaming, heartache, the making of new friends and/or acquaintances, and various cat petting.

There is however another trend that is growing at an alarming rate, much to the chagrin of The Man, the creation of content. It’s skyrocketed from a measly 6-7.5% into 72%! We can attribute this to a few things: the reading of and inspiration from other content, a total lack of respect for The Man, a resurgence of power, love/lust, that prefrontal cortex thing everyone talks about, the absolute demand for a better life for one’s family, and the Hope Factor.

We hope you’ve enjoyed this study and perhaps we’ll make eye contact IRL! As always, feel free to click buttons as a sign of your approval, (this data will then be pulled and tucked safely away in storage containers for further analyzation). You guys are the best!

XOXO,

Quality Unified Assuredness Department

12/18/2014 3:08AM

gold sequins_with me_1

I wanted to repay the favor. Touching my now bandaged temple, I slowly arose from the frondescence beneath me…

“Frondescence?” Teenybopper asked skeptically.

“Frondescence. Yes, frondescence.” I agreed, dizzily.

I looked around me and found no one; my wrists and ankles had become free. Everything or nothing could be at risk if I just got up and left. If I just got up, split myself in two and let my adjacent parts flee in opposite directions. I could almost envision it, safety resided in running further into The Woods while at THE VERY SAME TIME running away from it. It was getting exhausting/interesting to exist in the presence of my ghosts. I blinked, blinked, blinked…and steadied myself upright. I took a few steps further into the brush.

“Where are you going? Why are you leaving?”

The Specialist had lingered around. He was leaning against the scratchy bark of a tree, quite comfortably. My feet guided me closer to Him. I wanted to repay the favor. I wanted to repay the favor so I slithered my tongue into His ear canal, reaching into His sequined brain. He writhed in pain, pleasure, and confusion.

“Why, why me…?!” He panted.

I had no answer for Him. I had no answer for myself. I was busy and it was a gut reaction. An interrupting, gruff voice in the distance asked if I had a boyfriend. I wanted to punch it in the face.

banana lobotomy_4

I had run out of places to hide in my apartment where Ol’ Bat and Teenybopper wouldn’t find me so I escaped to The Woods in order to find some sort of peace. This would prove a fruitless adventure since they knew me better than I knew myself and could accurately predict my next move before I did.

“We’ve got to call The Specialist!” cried Ol’ Bat as she tied my ankles together.

For an old loon she certainly had stamina and a terrifying upper body strength that was unmatched. She laughed at my feeble attempts to kick her as I lay on the damp earth. Teenybopper, meanwhile, was holding my arms down firmly as per Ol’ Bat’s request. Screaming wasn’t worth anything here, I had traveled so deep into The Woods that I knew no one would hear me so I let my eyes water, salting my face silently. Next to be tied were my wrists. With a heave and a ho, I was dragged further into The Woods and into a part that I hadn’t traversed before. Ol’ Bat seemed to know it well.

We had reached a clearing; sunshine pleasantly kissed my skin. Fallen foliage and pebbled dirt cluttered my hair and twigs had cut my arms and legs. The glorious smoky smell of a bonfire lingered in my nostrils but I had yet to actually see one. I felt His presence before I could even turn my head for visual confirmation.

“My, look at those goosebumps!” bellowed The Specialist.

He made his way towards me, his physician’s coat gleaming bright in the midday sun. He carried a large leather doctor’s bag, a stethoscope peaked just out of the corner. He kneeled down, we met eye to eye, and checked my vitals. As He pulled out different instruments the bag’s bottom had become more obvious and I noticed a yellow patch of something I couldn’t quite identify as it was just out of my line of vision. Ol’ Bat looked on, nodding, as if she knew the score already. Teenybopper was off sitting under a willow tree, reading a textbook with pretty pictures in it.

The Specialist put a gentle hand to my clammy head.

“I want things to become a little clearer for you. You’ve been distressed for too long, and I have too. I want you to know that you are an important and integral part to all of this. You, my dear, are a strange case but one that has revived something within The Code…” He said, trailing off.

I didn’t know what say. I could see His heart beating through his coat, it was the color of deep crimson. I looked to Teenybopper. Stoically she met my gaze and held up a page in her textbook, a color photograph of The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa. 

“Isn’t that a little heavy-handed?” I asked, a little exasperated.

Teenybopper shrugged. She didn’t care. She went back to looking at the pretty pictures.

“Look at me!” demanded The Specialist.

I whipped my head back to face him. He hovered over me, his breath was hot on my neck. In his hand was a banana, (the yellow patch from his bag). He tapped the side of my skull with a rough index finger.

“X marks the spot!” he whispered in my ear.

Just then I felt a searing pain in my temple, it felt like my insides were melting. I could feel a cold breeze go right through me, my vision was hazy. I looked up and found The Specialist on top of me, a bloody banana raised towards the sky. Absolutely breathless, I watched the banana come in for a second landing. Finally Teenybopper was taking some interest as she became fascinated with The Specialist as he thrusted the banana iiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnn and ooooooouuuuutttt of my skull.

I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to do. I accepted my “defeat” with aplomb.

You Wanna Fight? (2011)
You Wanna Fight? (2011)

“I suppose it has been awhile since we last played a good ol’ game ah poker…” said Ol’ Bat, acknowledging the teenybopper in the room.

The teenybopper was obviously distressed and wanted to talk about a ghost prince that would never come but even she could recognize what an old tune that was getting to be. The two of them had tied me to a chair now; I was chomping down on an old sock. Strawberry flavored!

At this point of my life, I had to realize that Ol’ Bat wasn’t so much of an intruder than a habitual eccentric come to kook-ify my otherwise gray existence. The fact that she had an accomplice now only meant that I had another friend. Two, if you’re keeping track! Anyways…

“Urgh, I’m so bored! How do you play? I forget…” whined the teenybopper.

She sighed. We all sighed. We will forever be sighing.

“Pay attention,” Ol’ Bat said with patience, “you take the deck and you spill all the cards onto the table. You cut the deck in half and distribute them evenly between you and your opponent. You smack your opponent in the face as they go to collect their bounty and then steal their half of the deck back. Make sure to finger wag!”

She illustrated the motion.

“You take the deck and throw all the cards into a paper shredder. You get another deck of cards in the meantime. Draw Xs on very particular cards of your choosing, ’bout nine will do it. Then hide them amongst your person. After the old deck is all done being shredded, collect the pieces and throw them on top of the new deck…”

I was taking notes in my head. Maybe we would play one day (?) The teenybopper was looking at me with compassion, I think.

“Do you show your cards or not?!” said the teenybopper, getting impatient too quickly.

Ol’ Bat laughed.

“I say show ’em! Life is too short and boring without ’em! They all end up in somebody’s garbage the next day anyway! Besides, you have to fascinate your opponent with glitter…a little razzle dazzle. They’ll look great all lit up! You have to realize that you have more power than your opponent will lead you to believe. We’ve all seen you die again and again, now you must persevere with strength, with or without an audience. Know that you can kill just as well as you can be killed.”

Everything went numb as I felt a sort of togetherness with my captors.

“I don’t really think we’re playing poker…” the teenybopper said, feeling a lesson coming on.

“No, and I suppose we never will.”

playing with hair_2

Tonight I’ll give up my love for you

To carry around such a thing has become a burden by my bedside

To go on unreciprocated is to die again and again

I can interpret your touch, you see

…And it isn’t one of insatiable need

I will no longer be the only fool in the room

I will no longer meander the streets in search of meaning

I will no longer live in shadows that only I can envision

You’ve made your choice and so have I

I can’t extract fibers from a heart that just isn’t there

Or more likely is hidden from view

My eyes were too wide and too willing to be taken advantage of

So, tonight I’ll just give up my love for you

Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing.