What The heLL Am I Doing Here?

Posted: October 8, 2013 in Poetry, Prose, Uncategorized
Tags: , , ,

The-Phoenix-Rise-mythology-30557182-800-618

I have scathed the esoteric and the mainstream.
Studied the great literary efforts.
Worked tirelessly to build a lexicon worthy of a true pedant.
I abandon it all.
–for  I was only regurgitating a preordained formula —
telling another story;
instead of my way.

It became a question of:
Who am I trying to impress with this poetic foray? Who is the target audience? Is it the academics? Other writers? Publishers?

Why do we concern ourselves with impressing people who aren/t even a part of our individual realities?

We let the glamor of a commercial reality contaminate our definition of success.

What about the people out there grinding it out on a daily basis, who we are intimately involved with?

Parents who hardly have the energy to play with their children when they get home from work; yet, somehow find the time to trudge through my writing, some craziness that I deemed crazy enough to warrant their undivided attention in a very crazy world.

What a big head us writers have, as if the world should just go on pause to take in what we have to say.

Who the hell am I anyway?
–exactly what this poetry thing is trying to work out.

The end result is for anyone who took part in this crazy life; either, directly or indirectly.
Those who have lived it, will know it when they see it.
We smell our own kind down here.
Just follow the stench of burning flesh.

My entire body of work is dedicated to the beaten and broken.
All the single mothers who/ve been beat on and called stupid all their lives; who live for the hope that one day, life will work out better for their child, than it had for them.
The guy that is working for nine dollars an hour at a job he used to make twelve dollars an hour at.
The millions of people whose lives are obliterated for crimes, that were not even crimes ten years ago, for the sake of sustaining and cultivating a flourishing industry of privatized prisons.
And of course the addicts, the great tricksters, who have been convoluted from their true destiny by a commercial directive that is preening our youth for dependency.
All the people who have faced the cold reality of this corporate world long ago.
People who cashed in their dreams, to give someone else the life they had wanted.

My words are for all of them, as much as they are for my sake, and my soul.

There will always be the future to sell out in.
But right now, let us un-riddle the enigmas of this pain together, shall we?

Why am I even alive?
Why did someone else die, doing a fraction of what I did?
For that I am sorry.
My number should have been up a long time ago, and I plan to make the most of the resurrection bestowed upon me.

It is a peculiar make-up of personalities that I attribute my survival to.
The combination of the right people around at the right time.
Sometimes, the right people aren/t always the positive people.

We are refined and tried by fire.
The fire ends up defining us.
Let your blaze burn you true.

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Comments
  1. I love the very last line! It’s a powerful closer. 🙂 I can’t help but think that you’ve just created a rap song, which isn’t bad, since your lyrics (if that’s what you yourself would like to call them) are heartfelt and brutally honest. The purpose is not to womanize, or sell sex or drugs, it’s to be real and open. Maybe you should rap professionally? 🙂

    • i see the rap reference, in the personal me-me-me theme, but I’d spray words on walls before I’d do the videos and dancing.
      Besides, there is little art left in rap, that the industry hasn’t sucked the life out of.
      Plus, Eminem has sucked the white rapper novelty dry.
      Rap is a lot of ego, as most writing is deep down.
      I suppose you have to be honest with yourself in order to grow as an artist, or any other thing for that matter, as in why you are even doing it.
      It can be therapy, but writing has never been a release for me, in fact, it usually makes it worse.
      I am writing to observe and communicate and let people know that they are not alone in their pain that results from the imperfections in their life.
      I’ve had a few friends commit suicide.
      Sometimes you don’t feel so stupid if you know that someone out there is just as crazy, and i will be that clown if it can bring a smile.
      I had to redefine what I wanted to come out of my writing, rethink my vision of success.
      I’ve gone out of my way to tailor my style to target, not the pedants, but the junkie that can’t come up with one reason why he/she should change their life.
      That is why i try to write as real as possible, to do more with raw feeling, rather than images that contrive emotion.
      I just take the real out of the world around me and blow it up with metaphors and riddles and hyperbole.
      I see a dog walking down the road and I’ll make up a crazy story about his life growing up; but, most verses deal with either control (lack of, and those manipulating it), or attachments that went sour.
      Now you see why I loved your last line!
      Always send them off with a bang, that will be the line your reader remembers–if you are lucky, your opening line too.
      I’ve been wanting to do something with writing a style/poem that can be read top to bottom or bottom to top, where the bottom would be the title line, painting the words on a canvas, and taking a picture of that canvas; then, digitally tweaking the picture and selling the photograph/poem prints, it is hard for me to explain, but I can see the result in my mind.
      If you ever run across a person selling a digital camera, please let me know.
      peace…
      c.p.

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