tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11838285248508760452024-02-21T11:55:27.041+10:30Handwritten AntilogyJ. Arcadiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06642025802508266586noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1183828524850876045.post-19401206588389575712010-01-12T17:47:00.002+10:302010-01-12T17:47:58.260+10:30What happened up there?Jack and Jill<br />
went up the hill<br />
to fetch a pail of water.<br />
When Jack came down<br />
he'd learned to frown<br />
and Jill had lost her laughter.<br />
<input id="gwProxy" type="hidden" /><!--Session data--><input id="jsProxy" onclick="jsCall();" type="hidden" /><div id="refHTML"></div>Somebodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04939759933746915790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1183828524850876045.post-31649694934484896212010-01-08T11:11:00.000+10:302010-01-08T11:11:40.158+10:30Yaw and SplitRust. It's not hard to see<br />
the untimely slouch of metal wing.<br />
Yaw and split. Rust<br />
on the wing, musk on the wind<br />
lurid to the nose,<br />
bitter mingled (better mangled) with the fire of sweat.<br />
<br />
Fear. It's not hard to see<br />
the nervous grind of eyes on windows<br />
hoping rust holds out<br />
or rather<br />
holds in the wind /<br />
holds in the wing.<br />
But if this fucking thing is going down<br />
then I'm going to enjoy the ride.Somebodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04939759933746915790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1183828524850876045.post-91311796067073085592010-01-05T08:43:00.000+10:302010-01-05T08:43:31.167+10:30Sex and Philosophywarm sting of my flesh<br />
aged sun untangles her hair<br />
questions ribbon usSomebodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04939759933746915790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1183828524850876045.post-3988460616787276592010-01-04T23:55:00.000+10:302010-01-04T23:55:08.028+10:30Wanderer Through the Cold Waste - pt. 1Awake before the weak break of lichen moon<br />
run aground against a cold coast.<br />
Silhouette human<br />
alone,<br />
on hilltop, knifing in-<br />
to sky underbelly, July thunder<br />
bellowing. Clouds billow.<br />
<br />
This landscape is<br />
unfamiliar. Unfamilieu. Un-<br />
heimlich:<br />
hills lacquered pill white<br />
cowled by gargoyle trees.<br />
<br />
Something deeply troubling happened here.<br />
<br />
His measured footprints calculate<br />
the time taken to undulate<br />
from snowtopped mound to frozen gorge.<br />
Sixty eight<br />
days, not a<br />
minute less.<br />
No other tracks pattern the snow.Somebodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04939759933746915790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1183828524850876045.post-82359101387381962462010-01-03T23:12:00.003+10:302010-01-03T23:13:22.784+10:30Sunshine BombAnother grim old morning and grey.<br />
Glacial clouds lumber, making<br />
and unshaping fibrous fractures.<br />
These veins pour lavender and cinnamon.<br />
<br />
Sunshine acts as a wave-particle<br />
duality, therefore both smothering<br />
and bombarding the planet.<br />
It fattens and bursts like butterfly pupa.Somebodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04939759933746915790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1183828524850876045.post-21261020875882461632010-01-03T20:42:00.001+10:302010-01-03T20:43:55.702+10:30Somewhat EndlessStop the clock<br />The ticking bomb<br />This fucking bullshit<br />Goes on and on and on and on<br />And on and on and on<br />And on and on and on<br />And onJ. Arcadiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06642025802508266586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1183828524850876045.post-84399108608449151192010-01-02T22:29:00.002+10:302010-01-02T22:29:12.709+10:30Antigone: A Lesser TragedyAntigone raged at the failure of State<br />
in putting its people below its ideals.<br />
She danced her way to her burial place <br />
and summoned the devil to strike a deal.Somebodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04939759933746915790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1183828524850876045.post-92066283755060661582010-01-01T23:54:00.001+10:302010-01-01T23:54:51.819+10:30010110 Earth UndefinedI've written what seems like a million words<br />
about flora, fauna and the inanimate earth<br />
but sometimes the words melt into a mess<br />
of strange squirls and stop making sense.<br />
<br />
I begin to question, when I am alone<br />
(because internal chatter is inversely proportional<br />
to the amount of external chatter received),<br />
the validity of their motivations.<br />
<br />
After all it's not so hard to see<br />
the overwhelming self-similarity,<br />
a crude fractal topography,<br />
between environmentalism and religious belief:<br />
<br />
- actions defined by good and evil<br />
- a strict system of morality<br />
- a better place at the end of it all<br />
- the drive to recruit more devotees<br />
<br />
Like stars, God left a void when he died,<br />
and we, like nature, fucking hate a vacuum<br />
so we've scraped around finding replacements.<br />
Like nukes before it, this is a science disasterpiece. <br />
<br />
But apart from others, I need to question<br />
the purpose of nature in my own writing.<br />
Is it sprung from dungeons of passion<br />
or cannon fodder for my own vanity?<br />
<br />
Crass shouted that actionless sloganeering<br />
is just another Punch and Judy show;<br />
well I am Punch and my words are Judy,<br />
and she's battered until my ego is sated.<br />
<br />
The usefulness of eco-poetics in affecting anything<br />
seems entirely negligable when environmentalism<br />
itself wavers so dangerously close to the problems<br />
that are the cause for crisis in climate identity.<br />
<br />
Is it all just a stopgap until another religion,<br />
some ugly child of Islam and Christianity<br />
infused with the principles of eco-sciences,<br />
grafts itself onto the skin of human society?<br />
<br />
FUCK OFF ENVRIONMENTALISM. BRING THE EARTH.Somebodyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04939759933746915790noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1183828524850876045.post-25893456963089595582010-01-01T23:52:00.000+10:302010-01-01T23:53:12.928+10:30The BlacksmithInside, the hammer and tongs spark<br />Where off the anvil comes<br />The cage around my blood<br />That keeps The Tiger pacing<br />In broken, aching circles<br />Gnashing on the impatient and restless bones<br />While the Nervous Blacksmith is waiting<br />To forge another lock<br />That isolates my hands<br />From the gifts I'm told are mineJ. Arcadiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06642025802508266586noreply@blogger.com0