Pretentious Bullshit - Part Deux: The Art-house Bonanza (working title)

and I shall come unglued. Scripture will be written in my parting flesh
as divine birds of prey pick clean my bones and free me of being matter;
of mattering at all.
And I shall donate my battered heart to science so they may bleed it dry of wit
and courage, and staple it to the wall of some god forsaken cancer ward in New Jersey,
as a signpost to the dying of what is to come...or burn it in an effigious bonfire,
a political metaphor, a poetic cruelty to the initiated; those in on the joke.

Certainly Death comes with a laughtrack.

And when the waters rise we'll curl up like babies,
safe in high-rises and glass-towers, waiting to be winged, waiting for the punchline,
as God moves gloriously beneath us and tears asunder our crystal city of dreams,
dust and places that validate parking.
A New Flood. Bled from the nib, across a clean slate; a stone tablet yet to be written; yet without commands.
And we'll have wings. Like his progeny before us - feathered and retractable
so we may still fit in our subway cars and elevators that, upon his grace, lifts us silently to heaven.

Hey TJ,

I'm not really down with poetry but this was pretty deep and profound. Man, someone or something pissed you off bad.

Quoted from Pretentious Bullshit - Part Deux: The Art-house Bonanza And I shall donate my battered heart to science so they may bleed it dry of wit and courage, and staple it to the wall of some god forsaken cancer ward in New Jersey

Ohh-kay.

That's some serious stuff right there. You're scaring me TJ.

Rob

haha I'm sorry to disappoint you there, Rob, but I never write autobiographical poetry (not since I was 16 and I thought Slipknot was "edgy").

I wrote this in a reaction to a lot of post-modernist poems we're reading in my contemporary literature class. You know, a lot of nonsensical "there is no real meaning" stuff were contrasting themes are 'ironically juxtaposed' and we're expected to nod and proclaim its sheer genius.

I thought, "well I can write that." and I'm sure any veteran lit professor would be able to write essays about what I'm 'trying to say' here.

It's all just pretty words.

Phew, you kinda had me there.

Well the title sorta gives it away, don't you think? I mean, I put French in there!

I thought the (working title) sorta gave it away

Given the Orwellian subtext, one can infer the true literary meaning to be entirely relavant, and thus, comparable to, the seminal works of Vedder and Goddard, and to a lesser extent, the Crows and Springsteens.

Quoted from Blakkwolfe Given the Orwellian subtext, one can infer the true literary meaning to be entirely relavant, and thus, comparable to, the seminal works of Vedder and Goddard, and to a lesser extent, the Crows and Springsteens.

Yes, I am in fact a genius.

Quoted Text and I shall come unglued. Scripture will be written in my parting flesh as divine birds of prey pick clean my bones and free me of being matter; of mattering at all.

I would lose the first and. It makes it more dramatic.

Then I would change the line and free me of being matter
TO:

and bring me free of matter.

Quoted Text And I shall donate my battered heart to science so they may bleed it dry of wit and courage, and staple it to the wall of some god forsaken cancer ward in New Jersey, as a signpost to the dying of what is to come...or burn it in an effigious bonfire, a political metaphor, a poetic cruelty to the initiated; those in on the joke.

Again I'd lose the and I shall. Gives it more kick, more purpose.

Donate my battered heart to science so they may bleed it dry of wit
and courage. Staple it to the wall of some god forsaken cancer ward in New Jersey;
A signpost to the dying of what is to come...or burn it in an effigious bonfire,
a political metaphor, a poetic cruelty to the initiated.

Certainly Death comes with a laughtrack.


Actually, I'd lose the New Jersey as well.

Quoted Text And when the waters rise we'll curl up like babies, safe in high-rises and glass-towers, waiting to be winged, waiting for the punchline, as God moves gloriously beneath us and tears asunder our crystal city of dreams, dust and places that validate parking...

Again, lose the and. It brings with it feelings of doubt that don't sit with the assurance of the conceit.

Quoted Text A New Flood. Bled from the nib, across a clean slate; a stone tablet yet to be written; yet without commands. And we'll have wings. Like his progeny before us - feathered and retractable so we may still fit in our subway cars and elevators that, upon his grace, lifts us silently to heaven.

Personally I'd think it would run better thus:

A New Flood. Bled from the nib, across a clean slate; a stone tablet yet to be written; Without commands we'll have wings. Like his progeny before us - feathered and retractable
so we may still fit in our subway cars and elevators that, upon his grace, lift[s] us silently to heaven.


If I was being very serious I would suggest that you amend the metre and find something more solid that would match the evangelical zeal of the conceit slightly better, but it's not bad.

Haha I love how you take this so serious, but I actually did have my reasons for structuring the poem the way I did. I studied the poems we were reading and took note of what was highlighted as being "brilliant", and so I really wanted it to be something you could get a lot from but that had no actual meaning. At least not any I put in there.

The first "and" is there because I start in media res. This suggests fragmentation and that there is a part of the poem I'm not showing you. Oh, the post-modernists eat this up with a spoon around here (probably everywhere). Also the notion that I begin with a lower-case "and" stresses that this isn't the beginning but we're starting mid-sentence.

This also coincides with the fact that this is part two, while part one doesn't exist. Oh how I deconstruct the hiearchy of things in this post-modern world of ours...

And I decided to make the beginning "And" a recurring theme, although I don't know why. But I bet someone can think of something. After all, the author isn't in control of meaning anymore, is he?

If I was serious, I might change that, like you suggest.

I use "Shall" to enforce the prophetic tone, so it sounds like scripture; something that WILL come about. People seem to really dig the dichotomy of religion vs themes of secular mehcanics and carnal decay of modern life, especially set against a Yeatsian apocalypse. "Isn't it provocative?"

But thanks for the close scrutiny. It's more than I could ever ask for!

Of course the conceit will never be perfect, as long as people know who the author is.

It's a decent poem.

Whatever the reason for its creation, I would still deem it a serious work. Satire is serious business.

You mastered your intention in the following lines:

"or burn it in an effigious bonfire,
a political metaphor, a poetic cruelty to the initiated; those in on the joke.

Certainly Death comes with a laughtrack."

However your final stanza has real meaning. So I think you failed.

Perhaps you tempted your Muse...

Yes...but maybe in failing, I suceeded? Wrap your head around that!

Now I'm just not making sense at all...



I really like my poem. It's the best thing I've ever written, I think. But it's on a very superficial level - I just really like how the words sound when I read them aloud.

Also, I think it's sort of funny.