"piet" poems
*you never really say piranha.... it’s more like piraña... no wonder english without the necessary diacritic spans north america and australia and the emoji platform, so the romans said: bonum, sed ν (nu) *** linea obliqus, sic ha est ad hoc tetragrammaton pars, et allah est la la; quamvis latin est mort scriptio autem non clara voce - basically just write some latin using english grammar, what’s beneath it? guess.*
i’ve written almost 10,000 poems and still i can only
remember having said one or two memorable things,
i mean, for god’s sake, the pedigree maine ****
that lived with me for the 7 years he lived to
dying of kidney failure said more memorable things
than i did, having only said meow / miał (i.e. he had it, once),
maybe that’s because i don’t actually cradle these outbursts
to much appreciation, hence my own worthy critique -
but like i said it once admiring spiderweb threads and the washing lines:
by the casual phrasing ‘killing time,’ i’m sure people invoke
the meaning: to occupy a definite space;
the antonym? that’s a bit what philosophy preaches - ‘to stand outside
all of time and space,’ well the first one i can do and feel remorseful
concerning boredom, but that gives me an indefinite space,
although this whole ‘killing time’ is a great option, i’m going to
schwarzenegger time with a sawn off umlaut, ooh... kick to the groins
watch the crouching tiger hidden *** change - and occupy
a definite space. see, you have to find the hammers and the chainsaws in language
to escape the waterfall of fictional narration, obviously grammatical
categorisation of words makes it easier to suddenly realise:
am i really typing, or actually hammering a word in?
but realising that grammatical categorisation of words
exposes unlikely-to-turn-rusty tools gives writing a whole worth
of sanity, as no longer the chance encounter, but a safe environment
to abseil like a spider which lost the plot of creativity famed by the cobweb, just ******** out a piet mondrian.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 7:10 AM UTC
Kandinsky was smoking ***
when Picasso came over to
sell him some hash: Wassily
said sure, O, Mondrian wants
an 8th; sure said Pablo, tell
him to swing by my place;
Picasso didn't go straight
home; stopping at the cafe for
a coffee; Mondrian was in
a corner booth making out w/
Colette & didn't see Picasso,
but Pablo saw them & said
nothing, not wanting to bother
Piet, who didn't get it all that
often; Colette a nice married
girl whom everybody 'knew'
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 5:41 PM UTC
They say love don't die,
That's a lie.
They pretend and act as if everything is fine,
Meanwhile their heart beats beat with a new style of a cry..why hide?
Come don't u be shy.
From miles..I used to get a call from my wife,that I would even smile.
I even forget that she's so far.
Wouldn't you wonder what happens after those lovely calls?
Well she called,I answered and she wasn't calling on perpose.
That "redail" button got knocked by mistake
"Baby I prepered stake for supper"
And that's what I heard
I wonder what were the starters..I heard oooohs and aaaaaahs
I was so glad
Now that I know she was cheating.
Droped my fone and I turned on my stove
Cooked stake for supper,
Because it was also my favourate meat
And it was my twin brother that made my wife tapout..Damn Piet!
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 7:08 PM UTC
the first time tristan tzara put his hand
into a bag with clippings from newspapers
of individual words and started rapping
at the cabaret voltaire,
after william burroughs extended this
method and instead jumbled up paragraphs
and even sentences rather than single words
to avoid being poetically terse:
and later proclaimed that writing is 50 years
behind painting... you can still get
it wrong in terms of defining the mood of
an era of a method... preceding them was
piet mondrian - with that new york grid
depiction in the vein of minimalistic cubism...
just squares and lines... what tristan tzara
stumbled upon was how to translate a jackson
******* or a kandinsky with words into words -
the chaotic splatter of colour into ink monochrome;
it really isn't that easy to write out a jackson *******
it requires a sort of automation, a knowing automation,
it's primarily intuitive - you don't know what
the exact content will be in each case, but you do
know that you're writing in a context of translating
your very own kandinsky - even though you're
not necessarily looking at an example of kandinsky's work;
but let's be pedantic, first tzara, then mandrian,
then burroughs, the painters retreated into
mathematics and a theory of colour, putting them
on equal footing with plato's theory of forms,
but to get the setting, poets scout, poets are scouts,
writers of fiction are the actual army, who
come with bulging sentences, clear depictions
(clearly blood will be shed, the uproar of two sides
clashing and the sharpening of swords
and the swift swooning down of sharpened pin-like
arrows with hussar wings to frighten even more),
poets scout the new territories - the plateau
is never jumbled in fiction, such writers set out
with clear vision and aim at running for miles
without anything changing, but scouts enter
difficult terrain... many twists, many turns,
such obstructions as trees, mountains, bees
butterflies and seances of witches, not to mention
gnarling wolves - for these scouts are obstructed
by images, and because of that, some of them
report very little for the army of paragraph
hunters... but some join rank with them,
after all the scouting is done - they too take up
a weapon and stand shoulder to shoulder
with the giants like tolstoy - although lessening
the narrator's role a little.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 12:14 PM UTC