Thursday, December 08, 2005

Kat Wok Clique Computer Lab

Crammed computer lab, ticking, clicking, cliquish talking, surrounds focus like flies on the topic of conversation. Barbie dolls broken out of plastic packages singing fuck me jock sub-culture. Imaginary imperialists guarding territory like Scotland vs. the English, ready to attack third-eyed-legs for the slightest glance.
Tuned eyes to the electric-blue screen, wide, white and green, cubicles of stale air, sweat, and perfumed hair, bleached and seared, cracked broken ends on glass pages, a wrestling match between syntax and cliché phrases, inserted run-on, and deleted collages , a cut and paste lifestyle of subordinate clauses.

I stopped going to the computer lab today. The young annoying drunken kid running around making a scene to be seen was just too much; waiting at the printer for a paper is like waiting at the bar in a cluster-fuck of people trying to get a drink. While I type I wait for the disco ball to drop, and a disc jockey to announce, over the p.a., he’s going to spin the top 20 shit list of 2005. While in the meat market, one can’t help but to shop, there are too many tank tops, tube tops, and tight jeans, the consistent tongue clicking of heels, hip swaying, asses with an over exaggerated bounce, pulling my focus away from my work.

I stopped going to the computer lab today. The dangling bling-bling was sore eyes for sight. All the painted faces that just seemed to blend down the neck, like masks of someone they wanted to be, masks like they severed their heads and rolled them around in dirt, wet lips like they kissed a puddle, and forgot to wash their dusty hair. Hands with press on gems, sheen at the tips, clicking on the desk like the worst drum roll ever attempted.

Crammed computer lab, like “The Masque of the Red Death,” hiding from the plague, but its all around me. Abercrombie monsters, identical costumes, and I can’t tell who is with me or against me. I’m surrounded by a sub-culture of disease, corporate capitalism could be wearing off on me like mainstream-media-pop is feeding the plague, like fashion is only a reason to spend money on unnecessary items, like dirty face paint, or worn out jeans, these outrageous idiotic extremes protruded by multi-media mainstream, advertising how I’m supposed to be.

I left the sheep in the pen and I closed the gate behind me.

ABOUT THE PIECE: The Kat Wok is an Asian bar/restaraunt is Ashland, and at night it becomes a dance club. Being in a small town for a few years one becomes familiar to an array of faces. I don't go to this bar often, I could count the times on my right hand, and honestly that is too many. It was just stirring in me to make a correlation between the lab and bar, the same people, same actions, and I wonder if they will ever change.

Shoveling Bocci Balls Around The Moon

A channel dispenser,
oh fire at retnas,
said she’d go madder than me,
“fourteen taller,” our motto,
nail a front wing
icey mocha, an evening pond,
sewer in sections
it’s so freezing in sigma
evolved shell
grain, easily-
the kissers dream
raging for cognates at reverend affluenza
denostril harder
phrase stanza system-
on the armor paved torso,
frugile core,
lashing origami
sway, impress it,
pinch it extreme
ivy sack condom-
gnawed apart before cheap poses
fart neon
dual my signature,
seen no scar
infinity seconds
a roaring stream-
shoveling bocci balls around the moon.

ABOUT THE PIECE: This started as an assignment in my creative writing class called a homophonic translation. I was given text in Italian, and the assingment was to translate the words into English using the sounds of the words. I titled my blog after this piece because I think it signifies the creativeness I've tapped into this year, and surreal thoughts keep the pen moving for days. Make of it what you will, it's for the reader to pick apart and go wherever the images may take you.

Lust Conquers Love Two Nights A Week For Eternity

A poem created from the lyrics of Bruce Cockburn’s In the Falling Dark merged with Aspects of Human Sexuality, by Robert Kaplan

The moon, a toothless grin
External labia majora
floating on the evening wind
thick tough skin
lights tumbled out like gems
ready to “swing”
with a million whispering footsteps
slipping from hand to hand
cowper’s gland producing-
so many grains of sand,
enzymes and nutrients
The smells of sweat, lube oil,
And burnt rubber
Pervade the night.
Glory shining around the beast
Chemical spermicide-
caught taking a dive
intrauterine infection
The world fades out,
Like a diaphragm insertion,
an overheard remark,
thoughts of abstinence and masturbation
While catching the light and falling into dark.

The Carelessness of a Flustered Mind

shirts soaring,
drifting like feathered sails,
tossed, turning over a second floor rail

shorts and single socks
a spiraled ball of disloyalty—
spinning between gravity and air
tossed turning over a second floor rail

a gold wedding band—
flipping, glimmering in the sun
impaled heart
pumping, tumbling over a second floor rail

an unzipped suitcase
end over end
flapping like an overweight bird
diving toward strewn loose luggage

her eyes stared
glazed with rage,
tears, sweat-smeared mascara
thoughts like streaks on her face
smudged but bold

the carelessness of a flustered mind
toppling over,
a spinning spiral,
end over end,
laying loose, like luggage.

Mists of Salinity

Lingering in my mind
Like the glide of the tide-
Rolling on the damp-compact sand
Then residing
Waves crashing in a splashing roar,
Like a white kite covered in liquid lights-
Against my mental bluffs of stone
Pulsating, penetrating crevices
Eroding my cellular wall-
With ionic compounds of lust and laughter
The molecular structure of love,
Slung against me
Incredibly defying gravity,
A parasail suspended in the mists of salinity
Moving my blood in a whisper of waves
Subtle breaths-
Against the moon
Gravitational tug-o-war
Between Venus and Mars
Love and lustful-battle,
In a grapple for the outcome of my future
Head and arms locked
Pressing with Godly strength
Kneeling to the cold earth
Camera flashes,
And event lights-
gleam from the stadium of the universe
But no one is cheering.