trust fund child
trust fund child
by Cerebella
eulogy
stranger the hunter
wallet older than his grown daughters
stranger, his arrow.
he’s a worm man
wolfing down
the body that was
a deers
we spent all our money
on pure waste
(bigger secrets to hide)
we ran down the street
and don’t remember it
(bigger shame to deny)
i crawled through the
legs of
naked men
going after
that damned poolball
stranger the sounds
we must evacuate, hooded
escalator
i know nothing about you
so let’s be friends
until
there’s nothing left
but books and
a pair of broken glasses
we’ll get to know
so much
about each other
we’ll
get
on
so
great
Cerebella has vanished from my social media network, so I am so happy to see her work here. This is a great, great poem.
Despite the fact that I write poetry sometimes, I still feel I know jack about poetry. But I think this is very original. And the way it flows is lovely. Thanks. You always crank out the interesting.
oh heyyy thanks guys. i don’t remember writing this but it doesn’t suck, brings a smile to my jawline. f-uck the social media and f-uck virtual reality it’s really poisonous god it’s so disturbing how addicted some people are and they don’t even realize they’re on a high horse to realize we’re all vulnerale blah blah. and none of these relationships are real besides those between the poet and the poem. writer and the written. horse and the horseback rider.
I second your f-uck social media. It took a while to realize how slow I am.
Social media: a digital simulation of hanging out at the mall (without the benefit of exercise). I despise the rise of the technoclastic impulse to chose the hydra of application devices over real advances in human communication. Where in the hell have polite graces gone so that it’s rude to ask directions? Why have simple questions become deferred to Googling the answer? Are we so lazy we accept the outsourcing of basic human interactions as something best managed by a cloud? I wanted to know the time the other day and I swear to God the dude’s eyes were blinking noon.
Get on that horse cerebella and let me know where Shane has gone. I’m too hoarse from begging his name back from my sunset. That and my Zoo just IM’d me reminding me to feed my new jungle sloths.
Are you off linkedin as well? I replied to your message. If you want it hand-written and sent through the post, you’ll have it.
Cerebella-
I really dig this poem. I preferred the first image for the content. I get the image of wiry black tarantulas emerging from pant legs over brass buckles into empty boots and the eye lashes of the narrator. Sorry if that wasn’t the visual you were building. It’s what I got.
Matt-
Off linked-in? Nope. Not yet anyway.
I’ll reply the old-fashioned way: when I get around to it.
My gripe is specifically with F “the free-service” Acebook. The damned thing has taken my relationships hostage and put me in the position where I am compelled to either accept sweeping arbitrary changes in how I interact with the people I love or give up that connection entirely. I don’t like it so I took the cowards way and quit embittered toward the whole shebang.
My crackpot tone is a put-on. The truth of it is I do miss a lot of aspects of the service but not enough to compromise yet.
oh halifax. i can never tell if you’re really really facetious and just being tongue in cheek all over this land, but i like to reply to your commentary matter-of-fact(ly) because i feel willing and able.
indeed, f-you to social networking. everytime i go on ‘one’a my sites’ something panic-provoking happens that would never happen in reality because people are generally cowardly. i feel embarassed over my own past internet personas. so like, the ‘crack-pot tones’ i put on on these sites these days are all put-ons because i acknowledge that the internet is all virtual, actually not even close- it is getting further away from the ‘nigh’ and into the brainwashed time-out corner of the social stadium. i don’t want to be against the wall. i like to be a troll and do whatever i want with my identity when i can help it. IRLz i just play with rocks (i like the regality of rhodonite and TV stones (satin spar selenite (or ulexite)) because they’re FUN AS H-E-DOUBLE-HOCKEY-DICKS to look through), go hiking or just walk for long amounts of time with my dog, write (hand-written!) short stories, flash fiction and poems, mix recycled media and glue them onto spraypainted and/or garbage picked mirrors and road signs, practice yoga to the best of my boney-assed/backed ability, eat small healthy things several times a day and sing well only when alone (aside from my crazed best friend, my boxer) which is most of the time which is when i feel best. so now i’m consciously aware when i don’t feel good though i can’t quite pinpoint which ‘subtle body’ is pained during present states of consciousness, but i can tell you it generally all leads back to my frustration tolerance of negative energy (which i feel is the biggest collective possession of most peeplez) being out the window. hence the rhodonite for composure (not to mention i love the noble asana because i believe somewhere in my blood there is a component of royalty (but i am a star child most of all).
put amazonite around your neck like i do right now to prevent yourself from becoming affected by electromagnetic smog and geopathic stress, especially if you’re a sensitive. rose quartz is brilliant, symbolizing of universal love and infinite peace (my elixir yesterday had dirt and dead ants in it but i drank it and it was the coolest water evar). it exists, but is magnetic to all parasitic because that’s just the way the yin-yang of nature works and nature is all there is. namaste to that.
thank you all for compliments.
if by shane you mean shon.25, that’d be gravy if i knew him personally but i don’t.
since i’m also protesting (f)ace-book somebody please tell nick hranilovich i said hello. misener?
please kindly donate to h&h, my original source of validation of a poem-writer, if it’s coming from your voice either forming or formed- not for the pretense of it all. i know the yuppies are really into manifesting that stuff pretense doesn’t mix well with, when looking at it from a detached pov.
I was referring to a character from a movie by the same name.
My tongue is firmly planted in my cheek at all times. I find it helps me take my life less seriously. One unfortunate consequence is that other people sometimes think I am trying to take them less seriously. That is not the case.
Sorry if my point of view or tone offends. I mean no harm.
oh no problem brother i wasn’t offended, merely suspicious. socialphobia and crap (becoming affected is very unpredictable for me so like when i get all primitive, incidentally throwing moral judgement out the window, it could be over something objectively silly or i could be tough as nails over something objectively very scary. evz. oh by the way i feel a need to explain myself over everything so sorry for being way circumstantial).
i relate to the tongue firmly planted in my cheek but i must admit i like to stir things up with people on power trips, of higher ‘esteem’ or ‘authoritative natures’ ie napoliean complexes. gets me into trouble. THAT makes me laugh so hard.
if you wanna be my pragmatic lovah (spice girls, not making a pass on. anyone else familiar?), steering away from all metaphors-my friend, i try to stay mindful of relaxing my jaw to evade clenching my teeth because headaches suck.
it is hard to detect tone of voice over the internet considering these are not voices. i reitorate, none of this is real.
give me a tee-shirt that says ‘do the ramble scramble’. i’ll come up with the dance afterward. it might be all over the place. it’ll be so gourmet.