by Matt Ronquillo
Terror Creak is the name I took from a bunch of friends
off six different dimensions.
None of which had pens or the will to invent them.
Hence this theft. I ripped them off.
I sold our discordant scraps to Earth.
They’re still stuck in days of incomprehensible screams.
I’ve become the guy I never even saw coming;
singing. Not sure if you can hear the way
weird heads talk, but that’s them.
A heartless group-ditcher went and took off solo;
took a shot at cutting a strike through
the mass comm oddness of your direction
in your dimension. You threw me a few seconds.
This gig I got
talking to the folk in your head;
if you want to inner-head friend mix,
and tired of the ones in yours,
I’m tired of the voices in mine.
Here it go.
On the hypothetical, proverbial guitar.
Lost on stage.
Drumming into a corner that won’t shut the hell up.
Dancing bass drops. Individual toed socks
about to kick a rainbow up somebody’s ass.
I don’t know what it means either
except how it’s the manifestation of the outlet
which somehow exists for people like we,
who dont deserve this type of royalty (as far as my limited understanding of this planet continues to go).
Look. A metal star hits the forefront of a cross dimensional stage, and he’s reacting off millions of risen hands which are representations of people who don’t really exist,
and he’s too jacked on ego and everything else.
Realizing this in writing lyrics to ourselves,
how we shouldn’t be talking with our own influences,
we’d dance with them regardless.
0 thoughts on “Metalstar”
hellll yeah freakin sweet. thanks for the inspiration.
this poem was brought to you by the language of an interdimensional galaxy-meandering nerd.
Haha yes damnit. Thanks. I just glued Little Flower Science and Tiny Car up to a wall in my room, as well as some greats from Quasi, Misener, and Jim Benz. They’re perfect for when I’m pacing around in nerd-mania. Take me swimming with you!
thanks! i should send you my walls in the mail! they’re a mess! but fluxed is still there.
Mother of all Mergatroid! So deep i needed scuba–that’s a good thing. My brain is so dry right now that i’m putting the words phrases sentences of this poem on the top layer of my scalp and letting it soak in slowly. i love the voice here–very introspective and omniscient…above, below, to the side of, and from within and out of our everyday mind-mushed perspective. Fresh, quizical, interstellar, and gravely comical [though i think humor is mainly on the surface here and that the theme or gist might be betrayal and the sacrifices we make for survival and how it kills a part of us; but nevertheless it’s something we have to do as individuals to strike upon the journey of self-discovery (Catch-22 in itself cause without friends or others in our world we wither)] Humor in juxtaposition with the existential is sort of like swallowing a nasty hard crushed-up pill with our chocolate pudding.
Metalstar, i see you have the ‘Swartz’ and it’s just as big as mine!
Great piece! thanks so much for sharing!
You’re always great at deconstructing and analyzing what I put together. Especially with the juxtaposition bit this go around. My writing style now is to scribble things out in varying states of coherence (often low), and then put them together after a period of time. Sometimes over a day, a week, or a month, and see what general mood I’d been in lately. Thanks for your comment. Wicked Swartz reference.