Friday, December 3, 2010
The impressive e.e. cummings
Saturday, November 20, 2010
I'm a failure...
...Until about ten days ago, when I tried to open the file with my manuscript on it, and could not find the file. Regardless of the circumstances, my book was gone, every single, divinely-inspired word had disappeared. As things happened to fall, I needed to install a new version of Office on my computer, and that was a job that would cost me at least a day,(I had to find the torrent and whatnot). I then looked to see what my new pace needed to be, as I would not be defeated so easily, and discovered it was a healthy 2700+ words, tough but not impossible.
Alas, I sat down to begin again (three days later, due to the busy month), and I was completely uninspired. Worse, actually, as I was repulsed by the idea of having to retread all the brilliance I spewed during the first ten days at a less leisurely pace. So, here I sit telling you that I quit. Not writing, or even that particular story, I still want to tell it, and I plan to finish it before next November, when I plan to participate again, I'm just admitting that life and November have beaten me this time. But rest assured, that next year, I shall wreak a fiery vengeance, the likes of which they have never seen!!! Though I have no idea how I would attack a month, but in a world where the Jersey Shore "kids" are famous anything's possible.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Entrance
of your room, where you know everything;
yours is the last house before the far-off:
whoever you are.
With your eyes, which in their weariness
barely free themselves from the worn-out threshold,
you lift very slowly one black tree
and place it against the sky: slender, alone.
And you have made the world. And it is huge
and like a word which grows ripe in silence.
And as your will seizes on its meaning,
tenderly your eyes let go. . . .
-Rainer Maria Rilke
Friday, November 5, 2010
Whimper, Pt. 1
Friday, October 29, 2010
For M.W.
The beauty of your soft dusk-dimpled face,
No flicker of a slender flame in space,
In crucibles, fragility crystalline.
There is no fragrance of the jessamine
About you, no pathos of some old place
At dusk, that crumbles like moth-eaten lace
Beneath the touch. Nor has there ever been.
Your love is like the folk-song's flaming rise
In cane-lipped southern people, like their soul
Which burst its bondage in a bold travail;
Your voice is like them singing, soft and wise,
Your face, sweetly effulgent of the whole,
Inviolate of ways that would fail.
-Jean Toomer
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Devastation
It is too painful for me to sleep
For love in all its subtleties
Has gutted me and left me breathless
upon your altar
Friday, October 15, 2010
A poem and a strategy
The math is simple
The number of possible civilizations in the galaxy
is the number of new stars per year (big)
divided by the number that have planets(small)
then the number that could have life(just the possibility)
then the number that will actually have life(the reality of it)
then of those, the few that gain sentience (we are aware)
of these, the ones that can transmit
and last, multiply by their lifespan.
The universe is at least 14 billion years old.
There are billions of new stars every year.
We have been sentient for a million years.
We have been listening for 60.
But in all this numerical babble,
I learned something greater than science;
something as important as the knowledge that the soul
is infinite and immeasurable, and applied over all universes.
the point of the equation is not that the universe is very big
the point is that we are not
that life as we know it-
self-defining, self-organizing life-
is rare and significant.
The point is not to waste it.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
To keep going
Still and all, why bother? Here's my answer. Many people need desperately to receive this message: I feel and think much as you do, care about many of the things you care about, although most people do not care about them. You are not alone.-Kurt Vonnegut
Monday, October 11, 2010
Of the Simpsons, and why I'm conflicted about it
In case you couldn't tell, that was the opening couch gag for last night's episode. Dark, huh? Also, it was storyboarded and directed by Banksy, marking the first time that an outside artist has designed the couch gag.
This causes conflict for me largely because, I had just been having a conversation about how the Simpsons was no longer as daring as Family Guy, but also because the episode which followed it was still pretty non-outrageous fare.
Now, it's not that I don't like shows like the one last night, (Professor Frink's line about baseball only being understood by the Poin-dexterous was great), and I do like having my heart warmed occasionally by ep's like last season's "The Squirt and The Whale", but I find it hard to hold them in the same esteem as Family Guy, largely because the shock value that standalone jokes provide is missing. The Simpsons still puts out 26 new well-crafted episodes a year, which is an accomplishment, but maybe the show has failed to shift with society. Maybe The Simpsons becoming a global icon, meant that they couldn't shock us anymore, because now we have the sensibilities of their writing staff. The Simpsons is preaching to the choir, which sadly means that Family Guy is on it's way there too. Oh well, things could be worse, and I'll always remember lines like this one from Family Guy's season premiere:
Carl: So in the bear world, are pandas like your version of interracial children?
Bear: Yeah Pandas are something I don't agree with.
Carl: They're cute though right?
Bear: Just when they're babies.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
On the difficulties of blogging
Monday, October 4, 2010
Complementarity Pt. 13 (the end)
Friday, September 24, 2010
Complementarity Pt. 12
Friday, September 17, 2010
If
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream---and not make dreams your master;
If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son!
-Rudyard Kipling
a name change
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Complementarity Pt. 11
I shall give you the key to unlock yourself
If you will hear it
I am a poet
I transcend myself
If I am wholesome, can I decline to write of vileness
With as much warmth, and more volume?
Can I speak of the known more than the unknown?
Can I choose half the universe as good?
And not surveil the remainder?
But none are evil among the grand unity of the kosmos!
The singularity good, and the swaddling star good
The lightning is good, and the thunder is good
And neither is less than its other
The sequence good, and the chaos is good
The logic good, and the passion good
These are for me to know nascently
These are for me to find out anew
These are the form and bones of poetry
That nothing is irreconciled to any other
I am no less the singer of epodes
Than the odes themselves
I am Homeric, Byronic, Epic
I desire poems, I desire prose
I desire the cause of languages
As though I need to speak anymore!
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Complementarity Pt. 10
The creeping synesthesia that accompanies a living
I love too the vacuity of the fresh atmospheric scent after lightning
the purity which fills the sky with virtue
I am excessively pleased with these
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Well Written books, with Pictures!
- Watchmen, Alan Moore: I'll go ahead and explain the convention here of only naming the writer of the book, since I'm not making a list of most brilliant artwork in a book (though Dave Gibbons is no slouch here). Anyway, I am obviously not the first person to say Watchmen is awesome, and I won't be the last. This is largely thanks to an abundance of absolutely awesome writing, with Moore showing off his versatility by bringing together a world of vastly different characters, as well as an astonishing amount of background info about the world they live in. I never got to read it in its initial serial form, as I was two when it was finished, but it was one of the first graphic novels I added to my bookshelf, and I read the Dr. Manhattan parts repeatedly when I first got it, because it was so poetic. Every now and then I still reread it, and I never get tired. Everyone should read this book, partially because it is basically a genre-defining work, but mostly because it, like Shakespeare, or a Taco Bell Chalupa, is exactly as good as advertised
Cover of Old Man's Cave (Bone, Book 6) - Bone, Jeff Smith: This is here for very different reasons, because there aren't as many singularly eloquent speeches here, but there is a clear sense that Smith knows exactly what he wants to do with this story, which counts for a lot. In the technical sense, the tone of the story is perfect, and it stays that way throughout. If I were to pick a favorite part, it would have to be Book 6: Old Man's Cave, largely because I looked for it in stores and online for well over three years, and could not find it until 2007, (that volume was released in 1999), when I bought the whole thing in one volume. It was totally worth it.
- Planetary, Warren Ellis: Because Warren Ellis is clearly a serial genius and John Cassaday is his shape-shifting accomplice, Planetary is awesome. The story of Planetary is not entirely new, as the whole series is an homage to hero stories of the past, but a story doesn't have to be new to be great, and Ellis' strength in my opinion, is his unbelievably clever sci-fi writing, which seems to be more along the lines of Asimov, than DC. Of particular note for me are issues #12 and 26, when awesomeness is afoot.
- The Sandman, Neil Gaiman: Neil Gaiman = win. I don't know how to properly explain how good these books are, they are not only filled with haunting images(in a good way), but also some of the most intellectually challenging writing I have ever seen. Plus, there is an amazing amount of just plain beautiful verbiage, in every issue. For a best of the best, I'd go with Brief Lives, in which "we all know everything, we just pretend to ourselves that we don't to make our lives bearable"
- Ultimates, Mark Millar: Up until this point, Marvel has been taking a serious beating on this list, since 3 of the previous entries are DC properties. However, I will go on record as saying that for the main brand, Marvel has much stronger writing. The Ultimates are a great example of this, with the ability to take these heroes(they're the Avengers, in case you didn't know) and make them real, socially relevant people. I cannot find the exact number of the issue I wanted to highlight, as blogger appears to make my computer really slow, but there is an issue in which Nick Fury is the focus, which I think is emblematic of the series: very strong characterization, and plot twists.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Just a heads-up
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Complementarity Pt. 9
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Some school stuff
I just started the final semester of my juco career,(did I mention that I’m going to UC Berkeley next spring? I should have taped the dance I did when I found out, it was epic). As such I am tempted to post a few of the tiny little things of which I am reminded every time a new school year begins:
- Riding the bus sucks: In high school, I never rode the school bus to school, because I didn’t live in my district. I rode public transit every day which was easily the most terrifying thing about high school for me. At any moment, a fight could break out in the back, (or the front), a mentally handicapped person could try to hit on you (true story), some random person could ask you to sing (also a true story), or various other odd occurrences, which would be funny if they weren’t happening to you. Anyway, as an older, taller, more sarcastic person than I was in high school, the bus still sucks, but for different reasons. Mainly now that I’m in my 20’s and trying to be a responsible adult, my problem is teenagers, and the fact that kids today are just idiots. Now I should probably qualify that by saying that I know quite a few teenagers who are pretty smart, respectful individuals, but they are definitely the minority, and now that I’m not one I just wish that they would stop being so obnoxious. They talk too loud, don’t have any self-awareness, and seem obsessed with writing on the bus(seriously?! no one knows who you are, nor will they care that you were at some point on this bus, if nothing else this should serve as a sad reminder that the youth of today are our future)
- People at the juco level just don’t care: Sadly I’m not just talking about the teenagers, who clearly don’t care, or they would probably be at a four year institution. I’m also talking about the adults, both those of us in our 20’s who haven’t finished and those who for whatever reason have decided to come back to school, though the system is decidedly worse than it was when they were school-aged. Anyway, it strikes me that these people should definitely be attentive, since they have less aptitude for learning new things (that’s just science) and yet without fail, there is a whole row of people of all ages that insists on showing up late for no good reason, and either having full-volume conversations during lectures, or monopolizing the class time with a series of mind-bogglingly stupid/ irrelevant questions. I hope desperately that this spring will bring a different experience for me, but I doubt that more each day.
Seriously, why even show up?
- School Sucks: Not the idea of it, but the current system is absolutely useless. I know it seems odd that I say this despite wanting to be a teacher, but I firmly believe that the problem is not insurmountable, it just takes good teachers. However I’m not going to get all preachy on this one, as I’ve clearly done that above. Instead, I’ll let someone else do it…
- Overall, I think that that’s mostly what I’ve been reminded of over the past week, although I’m sure I’ll have more to say at some other time.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Pretty true, so I’ll share with you
A professor at UC Berkeley (Go Bears!!) gave the following letter to his students. I think it’s a brilliant example of social responsibility, and I totally want to take a class from this guy now:
Welcome to Berkeley, probably still the best public university in the world. Meet your classmates, the best group of partners you can find anywhere. The percentages for grades on exams, papers, etc. in my courses always add up to 110% because that’s what I’ve learned to expect from you, over twenty years in the best job in the world.
That’s the good news. The bad news is that you have been the victims of a terrible swindle, denied an inheritance you deserve by contract and by your merits. And you aren’t the only ones; victims of this ripoff include the students who were on your left and on your right in high school but didn’t get into Cal, a whole generation stiffed by mine. This letter is an apology, and more usefully, perhaps a signal to start demanding what’s been taken from you so you can pass it on with interest.
Swindle–what happened? Well, before you were born, Californians now dead or in nursing homes made a remarkable deal with the future. (Not from California? Keep reading, lots of this applies to you, with variations.) They agreed to invest money they could have spent on bigger houses, vacations, clothes, and cars into the world’s greatest educational system, and into building and operating water systems, roads, parks, and other public facilities, an infrastructure that was the envy of the world. They didn’t get everything right: too much highway and not enough public transportation. But they did a pretty good job.
Young people who enjoyed these ‘loans’ grew up smarter, healthier, and richer than they otherwise would have, and understood that they were supposed to “pay it forward” to future generations, for example by keeping the educational system staffed with lots of dedicated, well-trained teachers, in good buildings and in small classes, with college counselors and up-to-date books. California schools had physical education, art for everyone, music and theater, buildings that looked as though people cared about them, modern languages and ancient languages, advanced science courses with labs where the equipment worked, and more. They were the envy of the world, and they paid off better than Microsoft stock. Same with our parks, coastal zone protection, and social services.
This deal held until about thirty years ago, when for a variety of reasons, California voters realized that while they had done very well from the existing contract, they could do even better by walking away from their obligations and spending what they had inherited on themselves. “My kids are finished with school; why should I pay taxes for someone else’s? Posterity never did anything for me!” An army of fake ‘leaders’ sprang up to pull the moral and fiscal wool over their eyes, and again and again, your parents and their parents lashed out at government (as though there were something else that could replace it) with tax limits, term limits, safe districts, throw-away-the-key imprisonment no matter the cost, smoke-and-mirrors budgeting, and a rule never to use the words taxes and services in the same paragraph.
Now, your infrastructure is falling to pieces under your feet, and as citizens you are responsible for crudities like closing parks, and inhumanities like closing battered women’s shelters. It’s outrageous, inexcusable, that you can’t get into the courses you need, but much worse that Oakland police have stopped taking 911 calls for burglaries and runaway children. If you read what your elected officials say about the state today, you’ll see things like “California can’t afford” this or that basic government function, and that “we need to make hard choices” to shut down one or another public service, or starve it even more (like your university). Can’t afford? The budget deficit that’s paralyzing Sacramento is about $500 per person; add another $500 to get back to a public sector we don’t have to be ashamed of, and our average income is almost forty times that. Of course we can afford a government that actually works: the fact is that your parents have simply chosen not to have it.
I’m writing this to you because you are the victims of this enormous cheat (though your children will be even worse off if you don’t take charge of this ship and steer it). Your education was trashed as California fell to the bottom of US states in school spending, and the art classes, AP courses, physical education, working toilets, and teaching generally went by the board. Every year I come upon more and more of you who have obviously never had the chance to learn to write plain, clear, English. Every year, fewer and fewer of you read newspapers, speak a foreign language, understand the basics of how government and business actually work, or have the energy to push back intellectually against me or against each other. Or know enough about history, literature, and science to do it effectively! You spent your school years with teachers paid less and less, trained worse and worse, loaded up with more and more mindless administrative duties, and given less and less real support from administrators and staff.
Many of your parents took a hike as well, somehow getting the idea that the schools had taken over their duties to keep you learning, or so beat-up working two jobs each and commuting two hours a day to put food on the table that they couldn’t be there for you. A quarter of your classmates didn’t finish high school, discouraged and defeated; but they didn’t leave the planet, even if you don’t run into them in the gated community you will be tempted to hide out in. They have to eat just like you, and they aren’t equipped to do their share of the work, so you will have to support them.
You need to have a very tough talk with your parents, who are still voting; you can’t save your children by yourselves. Equally important, you need to start talking to each other. It’s not fair, and you have every reason (except a good one) to keep what you can for yourselves with another couple of decades of mean-spirited tax-cutting and public sector decline. You’re my heroes just for surviving what we put you through and making it into my classroom, but I’m asking for more: you can be better than my generation. Take back your state for your kids and start the contract again. There are lots of places you can start, for example, building a transportation system that won’t enslave you for two decades as their chauffeur, instead of raising fares and cutting routes in a deadly helix of mediocrity. Lots. Get to work. See you in class!
I got this here, and I think he’s right about the onus now being on our generation to change the sorry state of California (and everywhere else). what do you think?
Friday, August 20, 2010
Complementarity Pt. 8
And am fully contained
Somewhere in the periphery of your heart
Under the sea, life whirls
In the calming algae blue
I know the fishes here and there, I know them all
They began long hours before the sunrise
They struggle like you in the ever-illuminated sea
The sea which is always dark and filled with weight
The weight gives me form and flesh
The weight of the hammerhead smashing its meal
On the abyssal plain
Or of the brain coral slowly building from the detritus
Of the rich sea
Each man dying on the lips
Of his erstwhile friends
Loses first this weight of the waters
Then his own name
Then is no more found in heaven
And is at last banished from the heart of his loved on earth
You have walked under the sea with me
You have known what is my volume here
Perhaps this then will make me lasting as I die
As I continue to live
I am under the spell of this!
As the sunrise over the sea
And where have you learned to speak of death?
And where have you reckoned the end of things to come‽
How sudden and how far off‽
Do not equivocate the miles under the sea
For days or years, they are instant
At once alive and sustaining
At once murderous and inert
Monday, August 16, 2010
How to be Alone
I generally don’t plan on posting other people’s poems on here, but I couldn’t resist this awesome video from Tanya Davis. I love that the rhyme scheme is sneaky like an Eliot poem
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Perspective
occurring to me that I
am quite far from old
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Patmos
Summer crept away quietly,
as though it had another engagement
I had forbidden it.
Autumn opens its mouth,
blinking its expressive eyes,
and I begin to court it slowly
to draw it out of its guarded hours.
Now begins the patient continuance
the waiting in shadows
and adjustment of myself
in syllabic mirrors.
Now the peeling away of self
the apocalypse of one’s own soul
begins. As though the rest had been
a prologue to my real life.
Now I venture guesses
Now I sally forth into the lonely rivers
of my former tears
Now I examine my sadness and joys with equanimity
as a scientist with a quantifiable phenomenon
and approach
the intangible fruit of a million hours, burning
Monday, August 9, 2010
Complementarity Pt. 7
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Some odd observations
- Misuse of the term quarter-life crisis: The average American lifespan is 77.9 years (according to the CDC), if you divide that by four you get ~19. This seems to mean that a quarter-life crisis should not be applied after say 22, as that's a pretty ambitious lifespan. I think my real problem with the term is that people have this strange desire to give a name to the confusion and paralyzing freedom that comes after high school/college, but that already has a name: your 20's. Plus it's not really a crisis, I doubt that anyone has ever faced serious consequences because they were debating whether they wanted to completely ignore their degree in Super Accounting to become a bohemian performance artist. Slightly odd side-note: the quarter-life crisis label maybe especially misused if you believe, like some, that people will soon live to be 1000
- An abundance of poetry, and unfortunately Poetry: As an aspiring poet, I obviously spend a great amount of time looking for poetry, partially in order to refine my own skill and partially because I just like the stuff. That said, I find that the percentage of good poetry in existence on the blogscape is, in my opinion, about 35%. Now, that doesn't seem so bad, but if you consider the amount of bad poetry that one must read to find it (and I'm being generous with that number), it's a bit disconcerting. Part of the problem, I think is that people are taught loosely about poetry in school, meaning that everyone attempts it, and as American Idol has proven, there are plenty of people who are never made aware of their deficiencies. The result of this is a lot of people who write what a Creative Writing teacher of mine called "Poetry". In other words, the formally rigid and now-pretentious styles that were genuine products of their own time, but just come off forced and wrong when written by people who don't properly comprehend rhythm and such. I also find that I'm limited by my influences when it comes to writing 'contemporary' poetry. I might not find it terribly difficult to imp Whitman's free-flowing love for the universe, or Neruda's intimacy but the currently prevailing, off the cuff, informal styles which I have seen done very well in many places, baffles me, at least for now. Give me six months and we'll see how I feel about it.
- Am I in Iraq?: I like to learn new things, and since I don't have school for at least another two weeks, I turn to the 'net to slake my thirst. I've recently been looking at my dashboard and checking out Blogger's Blogs of Note. After I decide I'm not interested in yet another QLC blog (yeah, I just did that, and yeah, I abbreviated it), I decide to hit what strikes me as the equivalent of my iPod's Shuffle feature: the next blog button on my blogger toolbar. Occasionally, I find something cool (all but one of the blogs I currently follow came as an eventual result of this) but most of the time, I find that my search is stopped because I can't read Arabic, yes that's right Arabic. Invariably, the next blog in line is in this rich but unknown to me language, and when I click next blog, I get more Arabic. So I click yet again, and it goes back to the first illegible page, rendering it impossible for me to do any more searching, thus limiting the number of blogs on my Google Reader. It strikes me that I should almost never see a blog in a language that I likely don't understand, and that the next blog feature should be smart enough to know that I can't read an Arabic blog, since it knows where I'm from, and should definitely know what language I type in. Plus there's the whole "getting stuck between two pages" issue, especially since it's always the same two. I can only hope that by chance someone from Blogger reads this and decides to address the issue, though with my current following, that's a very slim chance. (That's your call to action folks, shill for me, and I shall reward you handsomely, with knickknacks and gewgaws aplenty when I rule the blogoverse)
Image via Wikipedia |
I don't live in any of these nations, and Blogger knows this |
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Complementarity Pt. 6
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Complementarity Pt. 5
Monday, July 26, 2010
Complementarity Pt. 4
The light begins to dance its way through the dying rain
It begins to settle itself upon the morning
I sleep but dream the dreams of those
who busily begin about me
The jogger on his way around the green lake
the mother packing extra pudding for her child
the business minded gentility on their way to an early meeting
the baker beginning his bread, the night watchmen closing his orbit
all with a similar dream which I dream
I don’t need to describe it to you
you dream it too every sleep
And are likewise disturbed when awoken by the real sun
Which is unlike the rosy dreamscape
in which the mothers, bakers, guards, and businessmen, and you
and I are more free, more electric, and of newer stuff
Happy as in the old ages of a fairy tale
Or do your nightmares wait within your heavy eyelids?
Where only the closeness makes them more real?
What more than a veil is your eyelid? See through mine instead
and I will reveal to you what only you have truly seen
that only I have understood
Saturday, July 24, 2010
And now, for something entirely different
- My name is Leonnie Dickens, which you already know, I feel no need to hide my identity as this isn't a terribly personal blog anyway.
- I don't think I'm a very interesting person most of the time. Now, don't misunderstand that; I'm a very confident person, and I think of myself as being very smart and very funny, I just know that I tend to be very excited by things which most people don't comprehend/ care about.
- I am preparing to attend UC Berkeley in the Spring to obtain a B.A. in English (w/ a minor in linguistics). Before people ask, yes I plan to teach. Hopefully, I can pursue my Master's at Berkeley too.
- I wouldn't be pursuing this degree if I felt that being a writer was a viable career decision, but clearly it takes a lot of luck to get Dan Brown rich.
- I obviously like to write, mostly poetry because it has always come easier to me, but occasionally fiction, which may pop up here if I ever finish one of the 20 stories I've started in the last 6 months(sadly, that's not hyperbole, I have at least 20 stories at various stages of incompletion on my computer right now)
- I like getting critical feedback on my work, and I haven't found too many places for that to happen out there on the interwebs, so I decided to start a blog where I could post most of my pieces without dealing with the hit or miss internet poetry scene
- I seriously dislike what I have witnessed in the past year while looking for people to share my poetry with. I appear to be much less thin-skinned about my writing than other people, although I just think that criticism is necessary sometimes if you want to improve.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Complementarity Pt. 3
After work it begins to pour
The rain rings heavily on the rooftops
In echo of my sweat falling
In echo of my toil’s engendered fluid
The sky is sweating deeply in the night
I smell the perspiration and am invigorated
Each drop of mine a fractal brother of this
Each drop a bulbous fractal of a liquid fig
Returning the cycle as quickly as I began it
It began me long ago
It was begun long before that
All have begun again a million times
All have a million more beginnings
The rain proves this
The water which comprises it is not new to the universe
The water is comprised of antique hydrogens
Primeval oxygen
There is only so much stuff to be had
Yet there shall continually be new waters
New oceans, new seas, new tides
New men and women with original energy
And new poetry, the rain is a new poem every time
Giving the earth a new sensation every time
Breeding new tubers and roots and imaginative flowers
Feeding bees, feeding birds, feeding life
With new waters until it is time to return them
The sky is filled with new waters
Heaven’s face staring down at its produce
It is new like my face is new every morning
When I am shaved
And when my beard is full at night and dark as the blackened sky
My skin covered in rain proving
New universes from old waters every hour
The apocalyptic dance of a trillion veils of the universe
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Contemplating a Spine by Daylight
Can I lift your slender form?
Can I pick the fruit of your shadow
When you are stretched cat-like in the sun?
Can I cause the excellent extension of your vertebrae?
Can I daydream of your stretched silver silk blouse
When you shrug off sleep in mid-lecture?
I must have pondered too long from where I sat
For I was awoken from this by a voice
which tore my questions, unresolved
spilling back into my mind
like the sun, dripping lightly
upon your small back
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Complementarity Pt. 2
Happy am I as I work
As sweat gleans my substantiveness
As I vanish into the toil
I am the vacuum humming as I enjoy my work
The symmetric lines are my Socrates and Sappho
Knowledge passed in the carpet
I am the plate, the fork, all cutleries am I
All feeders, all silvers, all irons, all!
This is to work
Have you earned the liquid monies of the spirit?
Have you seen your currency spent to moisten the earth beneath?
The replenishable forehead of the galaxy?
Have I not sung in the noon heat while working,
If not more, as much as in the Sunday reverie?
Have I not lent my baritone to the eternal harmony of a laboring universe?
What I have sung, youth and love, you shall sing
What I shall echo, you shall my echo ring
Monday, July 19, 2010
A Backbone by Night
I sit idly on the grass
And watch the night sky reflecting on your back
Your blue back under the moon
I watch the exploding universe upon your narrow frame
As you exhale, nebulas collapse in on one another
Take in breath and restore the shape of things
As long as your spine is blue
I know the safety of all life
And can stare at the terrific expanse of your ribcage
For as long as the Night lasts
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Complementarity Pt. 1
We are differing, you and I
I sing our sameness out of the swirling sky
Here is the river! Here is the discovering of life
I, the child of this song of songs,
In my 24th year, with fiery muse begin
Is it me you love?
Then you love nothing
Less than the whole cosmos
Is it my heart you have striven to reach?
Then you have reached across yourself
And within yourself
To escape yourself
Follow me a little way
And I will peel the veil
Like a ripe orange on the universe
I will show you whose heart and how
The where and when will wear out at this
The nature of things
You will not need to know when we will lose the moon
Only that it is dancing away
Until it is free in the void
Thursday, July 8, 2010
glory
I begin to sleep less and less
until I am consumed
by the rain
in a fluid torrent.
As though it filled me
until I overflow
into the street
and wash down the road endlessly…
until
under the universal genius of the starscape
I am hailed
by conquest
by fire
by a minor miracle.
There on that quiet
beach or bed
or midnight road,
words fail
dreams fail
my own wearied hands fail
and the beauty of this ashen night
sings a hallelu upon my eyes.
How peaceful then is the night.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Of myself
Which ramble on about loneliness
Because in the end I have considered all
And I am alone
If you find me talking at length about
This glory or that wonder
Do not stop me
For I have lost myself at the end of it
And cannot cease until I find myself by wandering
About the magical paths that my fancies take
I do not love the odd marvel
Of a perfect silence
Or the slowly expanding flame
Of a woman’s spine
Because it is primally enthralling
But because it is a strangely symmetric thing
Like the sea anemone, or the divided cell
Providing sustenance for my hungered soul
In the end I complain too much
I wander along fascinated with the joy of life
I focus too much inwardly
To the point of being stymied when others ask me things
As though it is impossible that they should not know me as well
As I do
I am fathomable, and often measured,
Mystic, and too rarely clear
Perhaps tomorrow I will have changed entirely
Perhaps I can shed this skin as easily as if it were a coat or shoes
Perhaps I will not be a poetic, perhaps not so much enraptured
Perhaps free, perhaps you
Perhaps
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Nothing new, but...
A friend introduced me to this book called The Physics of Superheroes, by James Kakalios, as the consummate nerd with an interest in both physics and superheroism (the regular kind does nothing for me), I am finding this to be an awesome read. So far the author has rhapsodized about kinematics by talking about the force needed for Golden-Age Superman to leap tall buildings in a single bound, as well as posited that Krypton must have been partially composed of neutron star matter, which of course explains why it exploded, sending young Kal-El to Earth. I am not doing it justice of course, as I seem to have lost my knack for wit in the course of the day, but rest assured it is a brilliant read, which explains physics concepts in a way that is both intriguing and effective for a layperson.
Speaking of intriguing and effective...
I don't think I have to say it any more but I suppose it's possible that there may be someone I don't know reading this blog(yeah right), so I'll admit that Pablo Neruda is probably my favorite poet, period. His Odes to Common Things is a huge reason why. For the past year, I've told people who asked about Neruda, my interest in Neruda, the nation of Chile, slightly unusual poetry, or the weather about this collection of poems. Basically, it's like a brilliant poet sat in his house and said "I'm going to write about every thing I see today". The result is a profound look at things from a bowl of soup("Ode to Conger Chowder") to a suit ("Ode to My Suit") that gives them context which is much broader than "this chowder is tasty" or "this suit is nice". There is no real point in advertising this book since the author is long dead, but if nothing else I just think everyone should know that a perspective like this existed in the world.
I am also reading The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay by Michael Chabon. At the moment I don't have much to say about it other than it won a Pulitzer and that it has good tone. Also, I find myself endorsing it to other people without having finished it, or even really having gotten deep enough into it to have a strong opinion...hmmm...must be a good book. I intended to be much further along than I am but it was misplaced for a bit, so I got thrown off.
I am actually reading, like three or four other books right now, but these are the ones I'm really focused on, so they will be the ones with the largest immediate effect on my own writing. Anyway, gotta get back to my sugar and videogames