Ugh. I feel like shit. My stomach is watery and unstable feeling, my muscles are getting tighter and tighter all the time, and my emotions are all jangly and chaotic. Why is this happening to me, you ask? Because I drank a cup of coffee about 5 hours ago. Man that shit is killer. I'm suprised they don't make dealing it a criminal offense. Maybe that will be the next big prohibition craze. I can just see all those irritable middle aged mothers and achingly sincere vegan types marching in circles outside of Starbucks and Cup O' Joe, accosting weary business people and engineering students who just need to get their fix. "Do you realize that 9 out of 10 coffee addicts become incoherent babblers, crack-pot philosphers, or bad poets? Why should we have to listen to your theories on how the personal lubrication industry is controling the government, just because you thought it would be fun to have an extra shot of espresso in your mocha this morning?"
In case you haven't guessed, I fall into the incoherent babbler category. I also do double duty as a bad poet. Do you need proof? Here's one that I wrote for class. I wrote the framework at some folksy american diner in South Columbus, and did the revisions just a few minutes ago, here at the Science and Engineering library on the OSU campus. Prepare to be enthralled:
Another Poem About Poetry
You know which one I’m talking about.
It’s that feeling, you know? No,
I mean that one: the one that looks like gravel
in film noir, scraping the nerves on the skin
which screams out in forced stiltedness.
The one that smells like a train wreck
at a gas station, while birds screech out
in frantic staccato
making their getaway.
Yes, that one. I’m happy you understand.
It’s important
because of the idea. Which idea?
You already know it:
it’s the one that settles
like a pin-prick
in the center
of the heart,
and radiates out
to encompass the body,
the trees outside,
of course the soul,
and every abstraction
in the warm embrace
of it’s context.
Well, it's not an excellent poem or anything. But I do like the word combination "forced stiltedness" which sounds just like it's meaning, if you say it out loud. Also, I'm in love with the image of an abstract idea encompassing me in the warm embrace of it's context. At the risk of sounding really inaccesible, I have to say that it's SO TRUE.
In case you haven't guessed, I fall into the incoherent babbler category. I also do double duty as a bad poet. Do you need proof? Here's one that I wrote for class. I wrote the framework at some folksy american diner in South Columbus, and did the revisions just a few minutes ago, here at the Science and Engineering library on the OSU campus. Prepare to be enthralled:
Another Poem About Poetry
You know which one I’m talking about.
It’s that feeling, you know? No,
I mean that one: the one that looks like gravel
in film noir, scraping the nerves on the skin
which screams out in forced stiltedness.
The one that smells like a train wreck
at a gas station, while birds screech out
in frantic staccato
making their getaway.
Yes, that one. I’m happy you understand.
It’s important
because of the idea. Which idea?
You already know it:
it’s the one that settles
like a pin-prick
in the center
of the heart,
and radiates out
to encompass the body,
the trees outside,
of course the soul,
and every abstraction
in the warm embrace
of it’s context.
Well, it's not an excellent poem or anything. But I do like the word combination "forced stiltedness" which sounds just like it's meaning, if you say it out loud. Also, I'm in love with the image of an abstract idea encompassing me in the warm embrace of it's context. At the risk of sounding really inaccesible, I have to say that it's SO TRUE.
posted by nearfalse | 6:48 PM
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