Asperger Collage Poem on 4th Website Autism Vuvuzelas Spectrum
Asperger Collage Poem on 4th Website Autism
Vuvuzelas Spectrum
by Quasimofo
i. one 1
mad fuck kayaking down stream of consciousness
e g o t i s t i c a l i s t e n i x n a y ,
the lunch money bully pulpit pastor prescience tense
in future soapboxes SUDS like mail-order hydrophobie
eccentric/bohemian/renaissance case-study filling
in for the 4 mermaids of the apocalypse
[note: never rustle their tailfins]…
is it difference or disability in this disintegrative
psycho-social communicative abnormality?
with victims or victimizers?
i’ve got 6 3X5 standard memo books gorged
with one – sided long winded audacities like:
“When you take in everything it bottlenecks the funnel so you get nothing.”
and
“Seeing ourselves thru other’s eyes makes the whole world blind.”
–these clumsy gaits are just the tip of the iceberg lettuce from the
Titanic dinning hall.
My hypersensitive cognitivium never gets to the point since
this hyperness is merely an optical delusion
loop-the-loop bivouacking high felutin’ falafels diving
into low end cascade of pedantic prosody
rhythm intonation of verbose wackitaffy.
ii. two 2
Difficulty falling asleep and identifying/describing
one’s emotions can make it hard for dream poets’
genetic eugenics coon hunt of the Robert Frost
rod-riding Jack Frost on a tennis court with no net—
Twitter that you bush meat eatin’ poppin’ jays!
We fuck and fuck up all over the placebo;
ah , i just earned an Aspie Award
but my Freudian slip earned me a pink slip.
The maturation of my skills refurbish thru
impairment in Peri Banou’s magic apartment—
When it’s hot as Hell in Hell it’s a good idea
to open a snow cone stand.
iii. three 3
The born romantic begets adopted cynic begets petri dish fascist
in this 1st person shooter 3rd person tag-along B O O B Q U A K E ! ! !
Can we highlight these colossalient conundrummings and cook up
some charbroiled razzle dazzle with embryonic connectivity
to the neurotomical mechanism?
What happened to the fucking manual?
So much is unknown with our interfering imitations.
sCReeNing DiagNOSIS and maNageMent kills the PROgnoSiS.
You knew this when you told me i was your favorite and you thought about me all the time. This is where the reader recognizes a shift in the poem from ranting confessional diatribe of the soul to yearning lovers’ mewing bliss in the spirit of dawn’s fragrant blossoming twilight—
but in reality i use ‘you’ here in addressing that part of me i wouldn’t quite call myself.
iv. four 4
a complex syndrome rather than a disease to be cured
creates neurodiversity tolerance
in awkward trudging forward
thru no common sense sense of self
expecting doors for door prizes
and wild hairs to be removed during waxing sessions.
Let’s see how all this comes together now, shall we:
v. five 5
With Indian headdress in muddy mosh pit slamdance
i’m gonna bust outta ice haus like white-boy John Henry
slammin’ 20 lb. sledges smackin’ frigid slush inhibition hiber-habitation;
i’m gonna free-step into the comfort of new skin
& ampersand dance with glow-worm psychicks
who radiate inner Emersonian transcendental tuning fork
joyful ferocity-being in goodwill lingerie.
I’m gonna go from horror to whore and eat Captain Crunch
with Willie Shakespoone who’ll grab me by the difficulty-rating nozzle
and exclaim: “I’ll write till from my bones my flesh be hacked!”
I’m gonna nitrous blast in Campbell’s souped-up El Camino
along the 401 passing hard-cock brainy punk-asses in their Rancheros.
I’m gonna put strap-ons on horses’ heads for Kinky Unicorn Day!
I’m gonna steal from the rich and throw keg parties at Trailer Parks!
I’m gonna go-cart naked into malls throwing rotten tomatoes
at Dept. Store manicans!
I’m gonna go panty-raiding in Nursing Homes!
I’m gonna burn down quick-cash stores who sucker white-trash
with payday and title loans!
I’m gonna go back to Medical School and become a Mammogram Technician!
I’m gonna collect pastels, go in the van, and paint the town Van Gogh!
I’m gonna camp in a pup-tent outside Scarlet Johansson’s mansion
offering to be the father of her babies and if she objects
sing in spontaneous karaoke: ‘Frankly Scarlet, i don’t give a damn!’
I’m gonna be outlandish in the outlands by building the only outhouse!
I’m gonna take carpentry nails to the salon for manicures!
But most of all, most of all,
now that i know who i am,
i’m gonna start life.
Something I notice reading Quasi poems: Many of them do an arch that build up with tightly controlled emphases in strategic places, which then execute a crackdown on yo ass with personal revelations of clarity that masquerade as pants-shitting madness.
I like this:
“My hypersensitive cognitivium never gets to the point since
this hyperness is merely an optical delusion
loop-the-loop bivouacking high felutin’ falafels diving
into low end cascade of pedantic prosody
rhythm intonation of verbose wackitaffy.”
…The poet has become self aware.
hahaha I’ll see you on the freeway sucker!
ah, i love a good quasi rant.
There should be a brand new genre of poetry based on Quasi’s poems.
this could happen. I am reminded of some stuff that came out my pen just by looking at the form. if I read it, will I go blind?
never bored reading what quasimofo has to offer.
last part just has the “fuck life. i do what i want.” attitude.
makes me want to start living my own life.
thanks for all the comments. It’s an honor for a poet to have readers appreciate his/her work and makes it all the more worthwhile. That’s a good way to describe this kinda poem–‘rant’. I have thought that many times and enjoy the creative catharctic approach which necessitates a longer, though broken up, piece of work. A samurai may sit under a cherry blossom tree for hours on end and thru much meditation arrive at an awakening in the expression of a 5-7-5 haiku. But what about all the other stuff that GOT him THERE? That’s what i’m interested in–the path and the destination. It’s not exactly anti-minimalism but it’s an embracing of actual life, or a mirror, a traveling companion, to a beautiful place.
[Misener] I recently started calling these type of poems ‘collage poetry’–don’t even know if that pet-name is taken already but it sorta fits and i like it. It’s a conglomeration of many various styles/tacts/perspectives–an eclecticism of direct and figurative language that resurrects a hodgepodge poetic craft–so much to draw upon.
Quillo, you’ll have to do a foreword for me–love your analysis comments.
Hopefully within next month i’ll have a new Imagist poem–going to Museum of Modern Art in Ft. Worth and will do some poetic interpretation of works there for entire gallery and experience there–mixed in with whatever feelings/thoughts am having at that juncture in my life. Anyway, thanks all. I love the new site! It feels so much like a cozy dwelling for the imagination.
Oh, and thx Rory–i am grateful for the feedback and compliments. That last part i’d say is a ‘fuck the world, I’m embracing my own life and doing what i want’ sorta feel to it. It’s hard to describe. Recently i was diagnosed with ‘Asperger’s Autism’ which means basically my brain is wired differently and as a consequence up till now have always felt on the outside looking in in regards to social interaction which is a mainstay of our human experience. Aspies have been described as ‘active but odd’ and i think the part 5 of this section certainly illustrates that–the need to break off inhibition, fear, isolation, lonliness, rejection, …and to just ‘come into my own’, to break out, do something wild and live god-dammit! lol. thx so much!
Superb. But you got one thing wrong: It will be ME and NOT YOU who shall father Scarlett Johanson’s children, so please sing elsewhere. We want to be alone.
What?! No way dude! lol. I’ve read all the ‘Mars and Venus’ books and have French ancestry! I think i would be the more considerate and passionate lover for Scarlet Johannson!