# 133 aka Weak as piss Kevin Costner reference
Message found in a bottle on a lawn on North Terrace:
Trapped in a vacuum of permanent marking.
In an octopus' garden.
Can't discern left from numbers.
Three-eyed man.
Smiles nervously to a Vegemite Sandwich.
Crusty words slurring into drainage system.
Substitute led refill cartridges with poison darts.
Natives not native at all but restless all the same.
Pygmy. Pygmy. Pygmy.
Must go to the market.
Food mocks me like socks do sandals.
Europeans have wasps (too).
Many times, too many times.
The nips are getting drier.
Dry zones in wet tropics.
Northern parts of the nether region.
Code. Code. Code.
Crack.
Bum.
Crack.
Smoke.
Crack.
Pipe.
Weezer. Weezer. Weezer.
He's Ebenezer Goode.
Carl. Carl. Carl.
Kill 'em all.
Metallica. Metallica. Metallica.
Exit light.
10 comments:
love jesus & mary chain
hate kevin costner
love stream of consciousness
and word association
this is brilliant! [which is a stronger word in canadian than it is in english]
Kate Expectations has been updated, but perhaps not completed. Take a look. I've also invited the others to jump in, but you can too if you've the notion. [we could also publish it as a part I cliffhanger]
love the Jesus and Mary Chain (too)
hate Kevin Costner (too)
love stream of consciousness
and word association (too)
though I'm guilty of not doing it often enough
thanks for the compliment ;)
Regarding Kate Expectations, I won't get a chance to read it until tomorrow as I'm still treading quicksand (aka marking assignments). However, I see merit in all the options you've listed - including the Stallone-styled Cliffhanger - and see nada problems with any of the potential outcomes.
I bid you a good day, Sir.
This is outstanding stream of consciousness poetry. It's just one big good line, but the breakdown at the end really just flies apart in spectacular fashoin.
And Metallica rocks, except for the part that's been going on the last ten years, anyway.
New blogger and old poet finding hell and good laughs. Thanks.
Eric, I appreciate the positive spin you've left on what is essentially a piece of claptrap. However, I must warn you that the use of the word 'poetry' in describing this piece of claptrap ought to be used under advisement as I've heard in certain parts of the globe it is considered to be against the law.
In short, my fingers slapped a set of keys immediately after an eight-hour stretch, where I had been cursing my dreaded luck for not being anywhere other than where I was.
All the same, the compliment goes a long way in ensuring I consider you for a virtual Christmas card when the time is right.
Cheers, mate.
PS I'll check out your site when I get a moment away from these dreadful assignments.
PPS Agreed about the Metallica analysis.
Uh, I must be stumbling in my Costnerisms.
Kill 'em all rocks pretty hard.
Claptrap. Then that's the defining word for so much bukowski and... well, I only read from a few of the great poet masters of the cannon. Fuck the rest. Some of the best shit I've ever read is here on the net and in two-three weeks I'm a junkie on this blogger shit. It's the best thing that happened to my writing since a reasable ink, it's the worst thing that happened to my writing, since I have barely wrote a damn thing good since starting this blog.
Thanks for the shout back, though. TMI--My favorite claptrap collection has got to be Love is a Dog from Hell by Bukowski. That's the stuff I love most lately, and this had that vibe.
The kill'em all vibe
Toast: Message in a Bottle... As far as I know, which is to say that I do not as I haven't seen the film, it's 'a piece of shit'*.
Kill 'em All was music to someone's ears. All I remember from those days was a genuine Metal Mate (not Metal Mickey!!!) introducing me to the record (yes, record) and then saying 'I think Guns 'N' Roses is more your style' before their album broke in this country.
Eric: I just didn't want to get confused with any (genuine writers who deserve the title) poets as I know how that would release the flying turds amongst the pigeons
...when everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky...
* Coined memorably by Bill Hicks.
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