How Dare You Tell Me - What Is Literature?
When I, waking pre-8:25 alarm, from some engulfing dream
Roll out of bed, read poetry when the day has hardly dawned
The wind surges through the crack in everything
Through my window, leaning and weeping
Screaming and tearing at me in Greys
Grays I've neglected in favour of Drakes
Socialising, absorbing this post-everything
Hearing echoes of Alex Turner
Soulful Amy drowned in Wine
The Magic Mushroom experiments of my early years
My late teens, which should have come earlier
Forced to grow fast to the sounds of Lennon and Kendrick
We live in a generation of not being in love, and not being together
When I first heard 'good kid, m.A.A.d city' I was still young
Because who told me what to expect?
Who told me but the Mothers and Teachers of the 80s?
The Bleeding Hearts and Artists make their stand
So Far Gone, falling free from the wall, unhinged
Leap of faith, like washing up the first cup in a student kitchen
Lemon drizzle flow and Drizzy seeping through every artery
A modern century, reaching 21 in 21
But back to the scene set to the Ice Age
Liverpool is my hometown,
London is frozen in memory, the pressure has us crash together
Our minds blend like time, concepts, musical genres
'Blurred Lines' - Feminist uproar defines this '4th' Wave
3rd Eye: We are living in the Future, in ignorance of the present
We are Generation Y, or Z, or just a generation of terrorists
Sages, Mystics, Heroes...
Sweeping winds through my window on a dreary morn
I read 45 pages of poetry because I feel like it,
Not because I have a seminar
University's red bricks fading away for me now
I'm just staring at a man's soul,
Attaching myself, this is why I write
I reach for the ceiling, in this small room
Yawning, the stretch of a new day
Going for gold (the sun, the stars)
Going for breakfast, alone downstairs with Paul Farley
As I stretch I look out the window
See four attractive, modern girls walking
(Probably to lectures, though it seems amidst the hour)
I can lecture too, with my arrogant, contemporary voice
I think - if they see me I will smile and wave, wink maybe
(Perhaps not, I am a feminist after all...is this ironic?)
These are products of angsty teen poem generators
They don't look, but I feel it may as well have happened
(I am in such a good mood I would smile at myself)
This generation seems to lounge in apathy
Girls in beanie hats, tripping off Raider Klan (RVIDXR KLVN?)
Obey Snap Backs giving me Flash backs
I wish it was the 60s, I wish I could be happy
Trap is the new Rock and Roll, Prog-Rap is coming, sit tight
(Was this always about hip hop, girls etc?)
Am I as readable as Holden Caulfield?
Reading about John Lennon drinking Milk
I felt like Sylvia Plath on 10th February 1963
Well, I feel like Lennon on 11th February 1963
Am I even an '13 Ye?
Screaming 'R.I.P STEEZ', or 'Twist and Shout'
How far have we come now..?
When will we redefine 'Post-Modernism'
Or give this era a Literary title
Like PBR&B or Indie
Like Blues or Jazz
Like the wind that rushes through my window and my follow up 9:45 alarm telling me I need to set off
Waiting for the theatre.
Not the greasepaint and glitter kind,
The scary scalpel suction kind.
My costume an open backed frump sack,
Out of it,
Tripping on tranqs.
Thirsty, nervous, needy for love,
Searching in strange places
Reaching out to unknown faces,
Will anyone care if I never come back?
Counting the minutes
In blood pressure increments,
I dig the sedation
Give me some for the rest of this year?
This is just a dark piece of creative writing. It is not aimed at anybody. Just a bundle of words! Before you read this I hope you don't find it too offensive. I think I posted adequate censorship warnings. EVERY SO OFTEN I LOVE DOING A REALLY DARK WRITE! THIS IS PROBABLY THE LAST ONE YOU WILL BE PRIVVY TOO FOR A LONG TIME!
Thank you for understanding!
Tore my eyes out.
Popped them on my plate.
Stuck your fork in.
You watched them pop.
You said that I was watching you.
Well I can't do now.
For a really brainy man.
You sure as hell aren't very clever.
You tied me up with ribbons .
You sat me in your favourite chair,
Tried to feed me mushrooms.
Gave me them in a witches brew.
Think you called it tea.
I couldn't see.
It was foul as foul can be.
Told me that I'd like them.
You said you didn't care.
The volumes were distorted.
My love he then aborted.
Left my soul tied up in the chair.
Tripping out like I won't care.
I was so scared.
Now my love he had denied.
My man of so black.
F**ked off and left me.
Won't be back.
Shut my eyes and try to sleep.
And only then I realised.
I could not find my eyes.
Just have sore sockets.
That drip with blood and weep.
My peepers can no longer peep.
He took them out a while ago.
So I could not see the way to go!
If this is love.
I'll give it a miss.
Don't need no more of this!
(C) Livvi 01/12/2013
T'was the night before Christmas
And with everything done
The kids were all dreaming
Of Christmas Day fun
The tree was completed
We had wrapped all the toys
When from the basement below
We heard a faint noise
I sprung from the couch
Took off down the stairs
On my way through the kitchen
I tripped on two chairs
I slid down the staircase
To the base of my house
And there with my shortbreads
Was a bloody great mouse
My wife followed close
And then she let out a shriek
She saw me and the mouse
And she started to freak
He nibbled the cookie
and he ran past my nose
right down my torso
Then he stopped at my toes
My wife was still screaming
The mouse didn't care
He continued his running
On under the stairs
I crawled to my workshop
Grabbed the first thing I found
A mallet for pounding
That mouse in the ground
I limped to the staircase
And I swung at the wall
I again lost my balance
And again, I did fall
I put two holes in the riser
Two more in the tread
I was gonna keep swinging
Till that mouse was dead
I broke the one lightbulb
That lit up the room
Now I was worried
I couldn't see...found the broom
I stepped on one end
Squared my self in the sack
I then heard a noise
The mouse had come back
I heard his slight skitter
As he went past my feet
He was off to the larder
For more stuff to eat
I went back to the workshop
Tripping at least three more times
I would finish this mouse
He would pay for his crimes
I grabbed for a lighter
And my large propane torch
I would hunt down this mouse
And his arse I would scorch
I lit up the propane
And I aimed at the stairs
It caught light on the carpet
And I burnt both those chairs
The flames went on upward
The stairs were quite dry
I laughed in hysterics
That damn mouse would fry
My wife had recovered
And decided to run
but, after seeing the flames
She phoned up 9 1 1
The mouse left the building
In fact, he never was found
The house burned in seconds
It collapsed to the ground
And through the whole scene
I just stood there and laughed
At the wreckage before me
And I thought, damn I'm daft
I had ruined our Christmas
And I burned down our house
Over a damn shortbread cookie
And one little mouse
The kids, they got out
And were wrapped up and warm
While I was creating
My own perfect storm
The gifts were all ruined
The house ...all consumed
And over my head
One large question loomed
If I had gone for the shotgun
And shot at the mouse
Would I be still having Christmas
And would I still have a house
My wife came on over
And she gave me a swat
She said "look what you've done"
"you great stupid twat"
I learned a great lesson
and folks ...it is that
Once I rebuild
I will then buy a cat!!!
I can sit here writing beautiful scenes
Inspired by stories on movie screens
But where would that get me?
Who needs fairytales
Setting us up to fail
The dreams they make us believe are possibilities.
All my life I’ve been knocked down -
Cinderella hiding her frown -
Limited by the authorities
But I didn’t get a gown, no fairy Godmother -
I didn’t even have rats for friends
I can see where this ends and there is no Prince Charming.
I was trapped in a lamp when Aladdin rubbed it
But I didn’t get a magic carpet ride
Instead he made me hide in fear -
He made me know my place
With bruises on my face -
I didn’t get a genie - can anybody free me?
I was suppressed, depressed -
I’d had enough.
I poisoned my own apple hoping I’d die
Because I had enough of crying.
I wasn’t kissed by a prince -
I woke with a fist to my jaw.
I was with a beast with a temper and I was tripping -
A candlestick was talking to me -
But I wasn’t happy.
No one from town tried to save me -
No pitchforks, no chanting “Kill the beast!”
Of all their problems I was the least of their worries.
I didn’t give birth to my Rapunzel
With beautiful golden hair
Because I cared enough to know it was better this way.
I wanted Peter Pan
So I went to Neverland - flying straight on ‘til morning -
I had no warning.
The lost boys used me for leisure
And I was captain Hook’s treasure -
I was passed around like an object.
I didn’t want to be Wendy so I changed my identity.
I wore a red hood to hide my face -
I was a walking disgrace
And the big bad wolf was my ‘hero’.
No one came with an axe until it was too late
To change the fate I was written.
I took a seat on a plastic bench in the middle of the mall.
To watch a kid point through a display window
And all I could see was his reflection; His dazzling awe
As he whispers; please, please, please
Daddy’s’ gnawing his lips
And he’s having a hard time hiding his despair
And I want to say, what you look so down about
You’ve got a beautiful child; a clean shave and white teeth
Then I saw her. The banshee
Steve!! Steve, look at what I got
Holding her arms out, bags upon bags hung from her
Skipping towards him letting her shiny shoes clap as they hit the ground
Look at what I got!
Oh he’s in for it now
And I can’t help but smile, as the little boy wonders off
Following shiny lights and hectic Christmas shoppers
Honey, we don’t have that kind of money
He’s tripping over himself, giggling
Dancing with the lights of Red white and green
With his beautiful innocence
And his premature smile.
welcome to light-city
where a dead-midget is on the back of a golden goose
head thrown back in rigor-mortis, days old
the plaza is on fire
one man walks out his delirium into a derelict-town
with so many glittering-lights on
an unhealthy-sheen to his face.. some melted skin
he seeks the looted-gold the long-plaited one assured was his
he can't hear the dark-whispers right behind him
his shoulder-blade itches with a fury no typical-scratch can relieve
nor can he sense the violent-energy half-crackling in the air
hovering in the wings of that dry-wind.. in sullen hiss-spits
elsewhere, many give thanks on the prairie
where daffodils fly free in love
a motorcade of bikers with a moon's view
bespectacled-waiter can ask for help
one child holds in hand.. so many open-answers that adults just fail to see
and dreamers dream the same dream
in a broken, incredulous world
(you can't hide away in your dreams
they over-foam your running-legs)
beware those pretty-wigs who tug at firm-minds
who force you to skirt the true-issue
you plain-refuse to see what you're tripping over
in case it resembles that.. stuff inside
there's a hue of bright-orange in the distance and you can't deny it
it is there
you can't see it yet
but you can smell it
within an arc of heightened-paranoia
it has started burning inside the back of your afrighted-eyes
drying out any recollection of estranged-promise
in a hopeless land of artifice
be not perturbed by fumes which rise in choking-plumes
the workmanship of assiduous imps, dutifully-bound
beset to task all goodness and beleaguer any hope
that only the blind-man can feel in bones-vibrated
(bring forth your legs
sing with fully) heartened to glory of light
there be a breaking in the pattern
not everybody made it
so less power to the battle
the circle is not done..
static.. static.. static.. // static.. static.. static.. // static.. static.. static.. // static.. stat.stat.stat....... //
with a half-smile of patience (she says) -
within your dream.. I'm there
I call you forth
S T - 30 nov 13
nature's harmony.... lift, lift, lift the heart
sub-exit: party and privy
disabler of dreams
poor relenter of schemes
mauled by media
coated by propaganda
where princesses hunted like wild-animals
and chased by sleek-foreigners into tunnels
like frightened rabbits
who never come out the other side
who's really behind it all?
where daughters of pop-kings
in ostensible suicide-attempts
left alone.. afraid to speak
where rebels with just-cause
feel final December-folly
leave sons and widows
there be those party and privy
(to inside-stuff so scary)
but less said...
save your salt for mountain-goats
and for sweet-soil sanctity
Feeling like a hopeless lost ship
shipping loneliness on a treacherous trip
tripping over the flop and flip
flipping anxiously in the white cap clip
lost and alone in the chop
chopping me up in the flip and the flop
flopping around, i feel my heart drop
dropping me back down into the slop
so much time i seem to devote
devotion to this sea that's so remote
remotely hoping to stay and float
floating around in this lonely boat
Personally, I’m not pissed. Somebody I know is. He is so upset over something he had no control over that the rest of his day is “Absolute SHIT!”. His words, not mine. In fact, this all started in the morning when he tripped on a rock. It was then that he decided the whole day is ruined.
I really don’t have a clue how somebody can get that angry over stupid shit. How can a whole day be ruined by one silly little incident? That was less than 20 seconds out of the 86,400 seconds in the complete day. How does that ruin the entire rest of the day? The only explanation I can come up with is that these people have a case of stickuptheassititus.
That is a word. Trust me.
The people suffering from this believe that one little incident will have a profound effect on the rest of their existence. Tripping over a rock means that there is no longer a reason to be happy. In fact, any bad thing that happens leads to more bad things. Even if they have to go searching for it.
In recent studies that were never published because I just made them up, people with severe cases of stickuptheassititus have been known to rip heads off of kittens that aren’t cute enough. If their daily routines is interrupted, they will blow a proverbial gasket. It will be their main concern to make sure their whole day, and the day of those around them, is complete and utter shit.
In a recent survey that never happened, 3 out of 10 people firmly believed the Universe was out to get them because a bird took a healthy crap on their windshield. 2 out of those 10 have been miserable since ’76 because they didn’t get the 13″ Six Million Dollar Man action figure dressed in a red NASA style jumpsuit and came equipped with a Bionic Arm, a Bionic Left Eye with a wide angle lens and an Engine Block for Christmas.
Seriously folks, I don’t see the point of being miserable and pissed off over things that are completely out of your control. If you trip over a rock, watch where you step. Get over it. Suck it up like a big boy and move on. The Universe did not put that rock there to get you. It is not a grand conspiracy to make you have a bad day. Just because one tiny insignificant incident happens, does not mean everybody is out to get you.
Let me put this into perspective for you.
NOTE: Those with tiny brains should stop reading in fear that your head will explode and the person sitting next to you will have to clean it up before somebody sees your exploded head and accuses them of murder. Save them the headache of having to go on trial for a crime they may have wanted to commit but didn’t actually do.
Back to the perspective thing.
You are nothing more than a speck in the Universe. You are not part of the grand scheme of things. Your short life on this tiny, blue green rock is not going to make a difference to anybody who does not know you. Not even to a few that do. I don’t know. I try not to judge. Often.
This rock is over a couple million years old. It has seen it’s share of creatures come and go. Once you are gone, it will just move on. This little rock is also floating somewhere in this vast Universe that stretches farther than your eyes can see. If you were to stand in front of a map of the Universe, You wouldn’t even be able to see the teeny, tiny little arrow that says “You Are Here.”
That being said, You were not singled out of the multitude of organisms is this Universe to be picked on. Sometimes, shit just happens. To think that You are special enough to have the whole Universe stop what it is doing just to fuck with you is beyond ridiculous and kind of insulting. It’s not like your Me or anything.
Time to Philosoficate
In the evidence that even the great and powerful ME is also a speck on the pimple of the Universe’s ass, I feel it is time to reflect on the way things could be. My view is a simple one, don’t spend what little time you have wasting it away in a pissy, little bitch mood.
Me personally, I don’t like being angry or in a bad mood. I would prefer to be happy.
There are rare moments when I get so angry I lose sight of the big picture. Moments when I just spent two hours creating the best design ever and Illustrator crashes so I lose everything. I don’t get pissed at the program for crashing. It doesn’t have an emotional reason for causing me grief. I get mad because I was the complete idiot that didn’t save his work for two hours. I get pissed at myself.
Besides that, the only other reason I would get angry is if somebody purposely caused harm to my family. Thank the Universe that hasn’t happened yet. I don’t have the time to torture somebody yet so I’ll just end up locking them in a crate and then forget about them like I did my pet turtle Mr. Shell. Then I would have to make the time to dig a grave or burn the crate which would stink up the neighborhood. Either way, CSI people would be involved and then I would have to take the extra time to find the best person to frame for the crime.
I didn’t even get pissed when I failed miserably trying to walk to Phoenix. Disappointed, Yes. Pissed, No. Still think it would be an awesome idea but I will not be doing it.
Anyways, for those of you who actually get it, good for you. For those that are inflicted with it, most of you are hopeless causes and will eventually whither away. The Universe will still keep rolling along. Take a brief moment on this journey of life and take that stick out of your ass. Walk over, smell the flowers and resist your urge to bitch about them. Life gets a shit load better when you’re not always worked up over the tiny details.
* By Scott Linke *
HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYONE
I wish I wasn't so vulnerable,
so able to
at the slightest of pushes,
like an autumn leaf is wrenched away
by the gentlest of winter winds.
You are an unmovable oak,
and you probably thought I was the same.
I've become very good at pretending.
You never meant to be the one to push me,
to leave me at the bottom of a pit
that I'm desperately trying to claw my way back out of.
My hands hurt.
Yet I saw your outstretched arms,
felt the nudge in my back the first time we met.
The smile sent me flying.
Even though I hate you for it,
hate you so hard rivers leave my eyes
I don't blame you.
I don't even really hate you.
I hate myself for being who I am.
A scared little girl who can't bare to look in the mirror,
can't bring herself to flutter her eyelids and shake her hair at you.
The smell of rejection lingers around my nostrils already.
I know your type.
I know you better than you know yourself
most of all,
I know nothing can ever happen.
I'm sorry for burdening us with this,
for tripping up
and falling down the rabbit hole.
So where's my Wonderland?
Your mouth reads Drink Me,
your heart reads Eat Me.
I'll eat till I'm full,
drink till I'm love drunk
but the table is bare.
Just like this pit.
I'll make a ladder from your oak,
and try to find a way out.
Just don't look me in the eyes.
Don't be the winter wind.