"subplots" poems
objectification is very much a cul de sac,
it's a one way street...
to objectify is to
allow an animate object a
confirmation of an all-pervasive control...
objectification =
the inability of an object to become
a self-serving subject -
no hammer ever managed
to self-serve itself into a role of a screwdriver...
to be objectified is to have no
self-serving subject, i.e. a self;
how can a woman ever be "objectified"
when she subjects herself to both
the object (that's her body) and
the subject (that's her mind) -
or, objects to the object stated -
whereby by "objectification" there's
a reinforcement of being subject to the object...
her body, which reinforces her
subjectivity -
when man is prone to objectification,
as pronouncing his extended members,
a woman is prone to subjection -
irony on the ob- prefix,
wasn't it ever reverse infatuation?
sure, not all the subplots appear
in being "objectified" -
but at least being "objectified"
does not equate to being subject to a man's
will...
if you can't deal with
the "extremes": is being "objectified" as bad
as being subject to a niqab?!
besides the point,
i can't believe that one animate thing can
make another animate thing objectified -
in the purest sense of:
deeming an animate thing
inanimate to be: a thing observed
without a self-serving self-aware ******
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 8:59 PM UTC
It is everywhere
On the radio
In my friends' eyes
Right in front of me
It is part of life
The happy ending to every book
Part of life’s plan
What makes us human
It is a milestone
The progression of dating
Then marriage
And children
It is society’s solution
The one for sadness
For mental illness
To keep going when the world falls apart
It is why I am different
Unable to relate to the subplots in movies
To my friends' love lives
And will not ever have the option to
It is what the world will not understand
Why it calls me heartless
Unloving
And vile
It is inescapable
In the name of who I am
The name of my community
Aromantic
It is the reason I feel alienated
Because love is love
But I cannot love
At least not in the way the world wants me too
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 8:57 PM UTC
Once I'm no longer awake
I'm put into dire straits
by my mind state
lying to make
me crying great
until I find a gate
to my one true fate.
My mind puts me in high and hung spots
with murderous guys and subplots
or both my eyes forming blood clots
the maze of my mind must get unclogged
leading me towards the one solve
retreating to what I know best
retreating to drugs
I come down off the eagle's nest
and onto the rug
where I crawl like a slug
from the high flying bugs
who want to eat my insides
and only exist in mind.
My brain gives me visions
of the **** I used to live in
making me want to give in
to the syringe's incisions
trapped on a crashing plane
I find a needle
to silence my thrashing brain
I stab the steel
screaming this isn't real
but that's just how it feels
after countless drug deals
it's all my brain reveals.
My mind gives me an option:
to face it
or to run
I can't embrace it
like it's the sun
and I'm the one
Gatling gun
spinning spun
until the chore is done
and the war is won
so I can score my dub
and get nightmare numb.
Once I find bliss sedated
the terror will have dissipated
but when I awake this is hated
bringing back the mist that faded
and all the chaos it created.
I wake up in a cold sweat
ready to face the day
I don't know how cold it gets
but I bet it's here to stay.
Feb 25, 2021
Feb 25, 2021 at 5:15 PM UTC
an old trapper keeper filled with some of my writings,
including 6 chapters of my very first attempt at writing a novel and
i remember the urgency i felt at the time to complete it
- ASAP!
because one of the subplots
involved the protagonist working toward marijuana legalization and
back in '93 with all the wisdom of my 27 years,
i just knew
- JUST KNEW!
that at the very least,
marijuana would certainly be decriminalized nationally
in a matter of just a few short yrs
making that storyline
completely
obsolete
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 5:47 AM UTC
Stories are who we are:
mysteries
dramas
tragedies
comedies.
Each has their own cliff hangers,
their twists and subplots
and the occasional well timed reveal.
They include story arcs that don't seem to add much to the overall narrative, but later
once we get to the next chapter
they begin to make sense.
Heroes, heroines and the occasional bad guy,
characters that pass through and are never heard of again
and some who stay to become integral to the final act.
And then there's book marks -
Giving us pause
for breath
for thought
before we plough on
to the next chapter.
Stories are who we are
and almost as if we collaborate
our stories together become richer
- they become epic
and they will be retold by those who follow.
Stories are who we are
and Jacqui's story is a best seller.
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 11:32 AM UTC
I got a *** to **** in but this **** in this ***
It's all I got
When confronted with that Eminem talk, that proverbial one shot
I gotta stop saying, "sure, why not?"
First of all, what a crock
Secondly, IT'S FUUCKING NOT!
Forgot a lot but never lost the plot
Though I find myself oblivious to subplots a lot
Flames are hot, can't say the left sink handles not
But the one with a label is not the one too hot too handle,
Lessons learned on the spot
Connecting lines, lost a dot
...gotta be a 'bot...
Fasten a sloppy slipknot, keep it taunt
Toss it up over the branch to swing from, now I have a forest to haunt
Awake or asleep, absorbing the same onslaught
What's fake, what's not?
Sunken eye socket, looking gaunt
Believe it or not, it's only ever been just an ink blot
Write my theory in ransom font
Look for the proof, there's a lot
Go one step further than you were taught
Always remember it could all be for not
That's why you'll find me on a canvas cot of rot to rot in the back corner of Salem's lot
A set with a pre dug spot for a later point in the plot
That is if I can survive the death scene in the pilot
AKA a nobody that not just somebody but everybody forgot
Only thing that sticks around are the demons I fought
Tell me, whatcha got?
©2024
Jan 6, 2024
Jan 6, 2024 at 2:36 PM UTC
we leap about!
we add little subplots
to the boring story
we paint artistic pictures
write
vignettes
put them on the internet
but
not reality
-------
we
see the poor man hanging
we walk on
"not me!"
we say
---------
on the stage!
(the earth is gone)
we talk of the god unknown
(as we
are unknown)
-----
play on magical musicians play!
play on and on and on!
til we awake
Jan 3, 2011
Jan 3, 2011 at 12:15 PM UTC
*wild thunder
She lies before me cradle-bound
You are of my blood not mine
but my sisters child.
I watch your sweet mouth form
milk soured smiles as you move.
I have dreamt of love
but only the love of women
not of this innocence
how could such innocence,
such pure beauty,
be born into this mad world.
with its plots of violence
and subplots of anguish?
the ice cold air in front
of the midsummer storm.
is pouring into the room.
the lace curtains billow like
spinnakers on a sailboat.
the fragile material
trying to protect you.
from the captured
ferocity o f the storm
what awaits you
as the clock ticks
and years roll by
what joys and sweetness
will you be holding
in your hands
what heartbeaks and bruises
will score your soul
the thunder blows apart
the storm clouds
allowing its deluge to fall
leaving me
protective of your sweetness
for unknown reasons
I want to leave you a legacy
hard earned
and marked with my own blood.
I wish for you to remember me
read my story and understand me
and not to leave incomplete
those things that I left undone.*
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 11:37 AM UTC