From the Desk of PastaNazi
DopeBeastie
Posts: 2,513
Bow-legged rock stars walked like gods.
Physically enamored
Heavy amps and guitars
........................................................guitars
Slinky sweaters. Underbrush hair.
Sky-wrinkled smiles on thin lips.
It doesn't matter how ugly they are.
The infathomably gorgeous souls don't know
they're bound in salt and H-2-O...
Ions screeking, bouncing up the walls of their throats to get out? ............................>
Get Out to the page and the stage and the dream of being a song, screaming?
Bending strings on a machine? Drum beats?
.................................................................................................Sheeps, bleating?
I inhales deep!
How the rock stars walk, back lit through halls,
hitching.
Pitching air.
Grabbing at everyhing hanging down.
They just know they're there.
Physically enamored
Heavy amps and guitars
........................................................guitars
Slinky sweaters. Underbrush hair.
Sky-wrinkled smiles on thin lips.
It doesn't matter how ugly they are.
The infathomably gorgeous souls don't know
they're bound in salt and H-2-O...
Ions screeking, bouncing up the walls of their throats to get out? ............................>
Get Out to the page and the stage and the dream of being a song, screaming?
Bending strings on a machine? Drum beats?
.................................................................................................Sheeps, bleating?
I inhales deep!
How the rock stars walk, back lit through halls,
hitching.
Pitching air.
Grabbing at everyhing hanging down.
They just know they're there.
Post edited by Unknown User on
0
Comments
in like this part the best..
"get out to the page and the stage and the dream
of singing or screaming or bending strings in a machine"
--very rhythmic, quick-like, and poignant... well done.
see Ed's church?--he's breathing fire.....
from my window to yours
Give me strength, give me chicken noodle.
The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math - The Mincing Mockingbird
most assuredly, chicken noodle... and humidifiers and antihisthamines... all that good stuff
thanks red & timr...
cya's
fav line
definatly
... gives you hope dont it?
must have been quite the culture for the privileged.
certainly I lived, then... but I wonder if I knew how to read?
as if the ability to read has led people to the ability to think. Nice offering anyway, your stuff is getting better
I like your spew pastanazi.
Pop music has killed poetry.
i've secret love children to bear
witness?
(tee hee... seriously... that's really cool
I blame Hollywood. Publishers and editors put all their money on sexy new novelists whose formulaic books equal film rights. A lot of literary fiction and poetry consequently gets sidelined. Even on BBC Radio Four, film, abridgeable prose fiction and even discussion of the visual arts will get more airplay than poetry, short or long. There's no money in poetry, and the book world is money driven and chasing the film and television industries.
oh, well. i meant... how didth byron become heroic if circulation happened only by mouth? i'm so used to this asceptic exchange, you know? the READ, as it were...
thanks. i appreciate the nod
Oral and unpublished literary culture perpetuates regardless of market forces, true. But in days gone by, minor fiction and poetry often stayed underground not because it was radical but because it didn't particularly challenge the dominant ideology: It's striking that the bestselling fiction and poetry of the nineteenth and early-to-mid twentieth century was largely the most able to construct a discourse of competing belief-systems and power relations. And I've spoken with feminist scholars and critics keen to investigate marginal works by women authors of, say, the eighteenth century, who expressed disappointment that perhaps these books didn't make it to the top, not because they were written by women rather than men, but rather maybe because they just perpetuated formal, stylistic and ideological/political givens and didn't say anything challenging or new.
I think however we try to redefine the literary canon, the novels, plays and poems that have effected the most cultural influence tended until pretty recently to be - largely - at least reasonably successful financially. There aren't that many Van Goghs in the book world. Even Sylvia Plath was well known as a bit of a writer-celebrity, at least in England.
Although Hollywood has destroyed much more than it's given, I don't know if the poetry genre was so radically effected by it. I think it does seem more likely to have been gobbled up by a growing music industry which took all the rhyme and meter of the romantics and butchered it with the love of a parent drowning their child. Because there is certainly money in music, people certainly remember the lyrics of their favorite songs. But I don't think Hollywood is totally blameless either. The Brits still far and away read more books than we Yanks do.
another..
love somebody left somebody love song..
or is it..
somebody done somebody wrong song..
and if you rhyme with me,
i'll make you sum money..
HEY..
how 'bout another done somebody wrong song..
..
cash donations accepted.
email or pm and i will accept cash.
and if this doesn't work, i will turn to jesus
and i will accept the same cache donations for the glory of acceptable and reasonable moral values, widely accepted as those of these who are predisposed to a heavenly range ahead..
but HEY
how 'bout another red neck country tainted love song,
and after this is gone,
can we carry on,
with juice us alone,
can we be alone?
Rachel Rox!
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
I'll grant you that there's nothing more cringeworthy than hearing people call Jim Morrison "a poet".
j, j, j....
heavenly range and acceptable morale... damn
The only challege I have the energy to exert upon the dominiant ideology is to smile smile smile and to TRY to be the best of me (shiny happy people laughing). Were I more patient, I might be able to write something big enough to push America or the world at large... but I am not. So I write poems for myself and songs for my friends.
Evil, there exists the smallest contention between the poets and the musicians at my open mic. While it's to appear tongue-in-cheek, there lay underneath some sincere concern. I think the poets are jealous because the musicians CAN get the drooling public to at very least, tap their toes. It isn't the art, it's the consuming public, here. HOWEVER, that said... most of the poetry ppl read sux, so. Without a beat, or some serious screaming and yelling BLOOD GUTS GORE HATE ANGST, why the hell would the drooling mass lift their noses from their cappucinos to listen?
I read some of ROT (that poetry book that RadarBabaO'Rielly wrote) at the open mic last night while I MC'd. Then this sweet little 14 year old mormon girl got up, at the urging of her family and read some of the most affectatiously embarrasing poetry I've heard read aloud, ever.
Like, oh my god. You don't call.
you don't call
you don't call
you don't call
I wonder if you care at all?
so.
ok... I'm rambling, lol... back to work.
Keep pushing it, y'all.
lovelove
Rachel
Open Mic is a different animal entirely. I'd be happy to see someone put down Dan Brown and pick up a book of poetry (that isn't written by jewel...ugh) I think it's much harder to write good slam poetry, because it's such an awkward medium in general.
http://www.kevincoyne.de/
http://enjoyment.independent.co.uk/music/features/article332091.ece
slam poetry is not for the faint at heart, lol... ack, i hate writing slam! they should shorten them to 35 seconds... holy god, they're like friggin' playwrights! "slam poetry" should drop the "poetry" altogether. not because it isn't "poetry", but because "Slam" it is such a subsect of it, (or because it's art for a grade, i dunno... for fame, or a prize, or a woody, or whatever...)
sowhere'syourstuff steviltoastinshelf?
I've been almost entirely consumed with my job search at present, there's a lot ruminating actually that I want to write, but I just can't focus enough to sputter it out. It will come though. I'll tack it on the end of the big thread.
Keep me entertained in the meantime though.
I for one have found some compelling, enlightening, and riveting films that have come out of my little town. Too bad the rest of the country doesn't want to see them. I blame the Republicans
easy fins, easy..
after all, it's only rock 'n roll
hwvr, i must concur that if someone wants to celebrate mr morrison's poetry, they should confine said
celebration to the united nations, yeah...
he was ok. larger in death than he was in life (kurt cobain refrain)..
i still dig lighter than fire and the soft parades escpecially runnin blue.
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
Robbie Krieger wrote those two. That's why.