FREEDOM!!!!!! Freewrite time. This is the third ever. Not sure what week...

Depending on when the blog says this posts is the main determinant in what week this falls under. I am going to try to get more freewrites this upcoming week. Regardless, we did this cool exercise about writing an angry passage in class today/yesterday depending on how long you've been awake, and I found that I was able to write something that I actually rather like. This is what I rather like, extended and merged with an idle writing I found in my QUEEN OF HEARTS journal.

Ballpark Sheep
By: David Mathis--Queen of Hearts

Crunch your mind cage with a cudgel--dash the meat
Across dirt-caked stone. Harsh, like hail on linens.

And this is my life--more unique than the life and times of Andy Dick,
Stouter than Guiness--too much in fact, and drunk while flickering street lights blink past.
Down those roads that in the night look sinister, but in the day look inviting,
Like the time I got carjacked somewhere on King Street.
Like the time you and I fucked in a parking lot but nobody saw us and the air was cold
when we left the car.

But then I get home.
Trashed floor, trashed desk.
papers everywhere.

My dog robs chairs of their virginity with her rotting teeth.
A statistician seized her insides a bit ago with too many numbers to crunch,
too many boxes to check--canine overrun with flitting numbers.
She died and was born again in the left ventricle of Mandelbrot's loins.

It's luscious like the plastic lips of a hula girl or,
Abhorrent in the way that bathing in a pool of contraceptive will permutate flesh or,
fleeting like a crocodile bite, assuming the fourth postulate of geometry applies and the month is January or,
Stout like Guiness crunching a bone cage with carjacked teeth rotting out of a dog's head.

Stop twisting so that this letter opener can properly perforate your neck.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yeah, so... this was a bit different for you. And perhaps for me too. I liked it though. Felt nice to just write language and shit. The only strange place for me was using the word "Fuck" in a poem, which is something I never do. I sometimes put it in dialogue, and as much as I swear outside of writing, I don't put it in my writing a whole lot. I just thought it fit here. Needed a good, short, harsh word. Such as FUCK.

LIZARDS ARE THINGS I LIKE TO LICK! peer review 2-2

Final submission for the week unless I toss in another freewrite somewhere. If I do, that'll be awesometastic and a halfstic. See how I forced a rhyme there? This week's pt. 2 will feature Spencer who I think is totally killin' it now that he posts a bit more. Check this sweet shit that he riffs from Meitner.
2046
by: Spencer Lovvorn

Don't mistake this for mania:
pulling towers down.

An animal
weakened with poison
injected precisely. The adder
could lie flat, still waiting
sluggishly, like compromise,
like discord. Just floating into
the natural.
Don't move
an adder. Creep
as heavily as you can before
you disappoint
or relent.

Employ me a path. Employ me
a frame
             of company in the nest
while generations design us
along unquestionable scenes.

Remember:
subtle output
lumps over time.
The shock sustains frenzy
as if it's predictable.
Your voice will flourish.
My voice will flourish.

---------------------------------------------------------

What I liked: The language obviously. I like the part with the adder--assuming he is referencing a snake--"Don't move / an adder." Is both humorous and it comes from "Don't waste a movement" and I think Spencer's revision is actually better than the original; in the context of this poem, the stanza is all about an adder. I also like "waiting / sluggishly, like compromise" And I think I like that for a different reason: it just sounds so damn nice. Flows off my tongue, and makes sense in some vital way. It's as if the poem is oddly cryptic while at the same time, imparting some universal wisdom. Love the contrast in that. Very subtle.

Improvements: The first stanza doesn't seem to really have as much to do with the rest of the poem, and it loses me. Pulling towers down is not especially manic I don't think, but I suppose I could be wrong. It just doesn't seem to jive with the rest of the tune is all. The final stanza sounds like it is just a bunch of cool words thrown together--something I am also guilty of. It sounds cool, yes, but I don't know what it means--though that could perhaps be the point. Never was sure why Meitner did that strange thing with the lines in the third stanza, and I'm still not sure it really does anything here--maybe you could make it important? I mean, it forces a really harsh enjambment on the reader, and I don't know why. I want enjambment to mean something to me. I want enjambment to slap me in the face, or punch me out or something--this enjambs like a lamb named Sam, but why? If you're going to trip up my flow, do it for a reason. Gimme' a one-two punch, brah. 

All together: Fantastic poem--lots of wonderful language, a great example of when Calisthenics go properly--not like one of the attempts I made below this post and then had to do more to it. It fits--for the most part--flows well, and has some wonderful absurdness that I really enjoy in a poem, but it could be strengthened with a more focused first stanza, a redo of the fourth stanza with its hodgepodge of words, and making that enjambment count--use it to tie the first stanza with the last. Make that enjambment carry the third stanza into a segue into the final stanza. That's what I would like to see. Keep up the ass kicking.

I LIKE TO LICK THE LIZARDS--Peer review 2-1

This week I am totally doing a peer review thing. I mean, I did last week too, but I am also doing it this week. I am actually doing it twice this week, just like last week. I'm just awesome like that. I have decided to review someone's post who NOBODY has reviewed so far: Jami's Calisthenics piece. So, like always, here is the piece for your viewing pleasure:

‘Dyslexia at it’s finest’

By: Jami Lynn

Cloning the skin on the skeleton
and the cat-like brown around the dilation
of the square bright light reflected in dyslexia.
Reversed IUAM engraved wooden hazardous waste disposal,
Close friends to the Reversed OROBLRAM box, laced with cyanide and rat poison
that is reached for at least three to four times in an hour, but the flame
between the two is violently forced out every time they touch.
Reversed switch, the indoor wind has stopped blowing and the sun has been flipped off, while
Metallic glitter stands still in lime green fishnet only revealing silhouettes to the neighbors.
Reversed new freckle kissing the nose subtly on the wrong side,
Or is it the right?
It is still a perfect vision through the glaze of dust
That has long been forgotten to be wiped down with blue liquid.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

What I liked: Definitely the words spelled backwards. I did enjoy that quite a bit--it was a nice device, playing off of the idea that the entire poem happens within a mirror. I liked, yet again, the play with the idea of the mirror with "Reversed new freckle kissing the nose subtly on the wrong side, / or is it the right?" It was, in my opinion, a well-constructed pun. It seems to reinforce the mirror idea. Liked the idea with the light switch and the indoor wind.

Improvements: The words are both helpful, and encumbering in some ways--if you were to put a bit more emphasis on the mirror early in the poem, you wouldn't have to put "reversed" in front of the words; instead the reader would know that it was a the image from the mirror. I would like to see you put a bit more investment into the mirror idea if it is going to drive the poem the way it does. In that regard, at the end, you talk about the mirror being wiped with the "blue liquid" but I think that over complicates things a bit. No need to be cryptic about window cleaner. Just say window cleaner, or say that the dust should be wiped off or cleaned off. One last thing is about the light switch/indoor wind. I know I made the suggestion above about not having to put "reversed" into the poem, but you seem to have made it a baseline which also includes the lightswitch--it's cool if you want to keep it, but I would still put more mirror emphasis. I think it would only strengthen the piece As for the glittering fishnets, I assume those are maybe blinds, but I am not actually entirely sure. Seems a little too cryptic for the reader to grasp. I also have no idea what the first part of the poem means. The language is baffling. 

All Together: You have a lot of good base material to springboard a strong poem off of--playing with the environment inside a mirror as backwards from the real world--some puns and some nice use of the English language peppered throughout. I think it would be nice to see a bit more emphasis on that mirror world though, because it currently takes a strange background seat and the reader has to infer what is going on. On the other hand though, I didn't realize how subtly awesome the poem was--you never really come right out and say that the event is in a mirror. The only time you really acknowledge that is at the end with the window cleaner. And with that last statement, you could take it either way--more emphasis on the mirror, or make the reader infer. However, whichever you decided to do, I still think that the beginning of the poem throws the reader off and I didn't get my bearings again until the reversed words. Great job so far--I know I gave some conflicting answers, but ultimately you are the one who knows what direction you want to take this. I just tried to give a few ways to go in different ways.

Calisthenics and you! Week 2's absurdities.

I looked through the book to find an example of how to write--ENGAGING THE ABSURD!
So, that is what I will do. I have searched through my big bag of stuff I've written in the past so I can pull something from there. I have decided to pick a piece of prose, and turn it into poetry, but also make it absurd.

I selected a story I wrote about a dude hunting zombies after a zombie apocalypse. I wrote it a few years ago, so naturally, I think it already needs work. I've always wanted to write a zombie apocalypse poem, so, this should be cool. I'll even give it the original title--my titles have never made sense.

I Don't like it When You Push that Button, Dude
by: David Mathis

A man sits at his kitchen table--lights low, walls full of static--eating a bowl of cereal.
Clock strikes 2:45, moon glares into the window, tapping an impatient foot.
Next to the eating man, a sliding glass door opens, permitting a zombie to limp in feebly.
The man tips his bowler cap to the twisted flesh husk, which sits down at the table as well.

A zombie sits in a tree until a firefighter comes to rescue it--the zombie's arm is snapped off in the process.
Clock strikes 2:40, moon stares into a graveyard full of headstones with faded epitaphs:
Zora, Born 2424, Tactile as the buttons on a coat. 
The Zombie sees a window caught in the light of a lamp. Seems inviting.

The zombie eats cocoa pebbles with a slurping noise and the man snores even when awake.
Clock strikes 2:50, moon is getting tired of staring. Goes on break. The night darkens.
The zombie and the man slowly crunch cereal between teeth--some rotting.
Moon comes back, and the zombie and the man slip into bed.

The man pulls a blanket tight over himself and the zombie.
Clock strikes 3:00. The man pulls the covers tighter.
The zombie can't move, the covers are so tight.
Zombie flattens into the bed. Day breaks.

Sign Analysis--second attempt

Apparently I went waaay too specific last time in my efforts, so I'll tone it back this time. Remember, and learn from my mistakes--we're just lookin' at cool shit we see in pro work. So, I am going to tell you all about "SMILE! IT'S SCHOOL PICTURE TIME!" by Erica Meitner because she is soooooooo awesome. I can't read her enough. I just drink in the words and it's wonderful.

-- I like that the first stanza has nothing to do with the second stanza. It is a wonderful example of juggling.
-- I like that the final stanza goes back to the first stanza and makes the center stanza a kind of segue which puts the narrative in an understandable box.
-- enjambment from the end of the first stanza into the second. It hops stanzas, forces the first one to have a connection with the second. Almost like the reader wouldn't have known it had something to do with each other otherwise.
-- first part is very sexual
-- They learn about the body from a plastic skeleton--emphasis on the fact that it is not at all alive

Well, this is what I gots! Maybe there are more...

Junkyardigans! Better than the backyardigans!

I like to think that I can find cool, strange language... let's put it to the test! JUNKYARD! GO! ALL IN ONE SHOT!!!

[1]
"If a lion / had you in its jaws, I would attack it, if the ropes / binding your soul are your own wrists, I will cut them."
Sharon Olds, THE PROMISE

I never get tired of reading this one. Such amazing language. if you don't agree, I don't really know what to say to you.

[2]
"I thought of men and women who sell their blood for / a drink of sleep in a doorway..."
Susan Mitchell, A STORY

[3]
"How do you hone your chops?"
Random guy at Dragoncon

I have no idea if that even makes sense or not, but a guy who was trying to get into voice acting asked the voice acting panel how someone might hone his or her chops, which struck me as an odd question to ask.

[4]
"You're giving me that look like 'David, I want you to stick ice up my butt.'"
me, me, me

I was in the hotel after the first night in Dragoncon when my girlfriend called and was asking about the trip. My friend went off to go get ice, and came back claiming to have a buttload of ice. I ended up joking about the buttload of ice that my girlfriend told me to guess what kind of look she was giving me. The above quote was my response.

Riffin' and raffin' all night and all day--in this week, the week of week 2

I am thinking that this whole riffing off other more talented authors may eventually help. Keeping that in mind, I feel like I need to riff off of the amazing language I find in THE PROMISE by Sharon Olds; if you haven't gotten around to reading it yet--I have, thanks to Queenie--then you should. Since this is probably going to be long enough as it is, I will just tell you what part I plan to pluck. Ah, alliteration, I love you. Especially when you happen on accident. I have a boner for alliteration, as you may soon learn.

[1]
Think how we have floated together
eye to eye, nipple to nipple,
sex to sex, the halves of a creature
drifting up to the lip of matter
and over it—you know me from the bright, blood-
flecked delivery room, if a lion
had you in its jaws I would attack it, if the ropes binding your soul are your own wrists, I will cut them.

I don't know how you get any fucking better than this language--ironically, considering the profanity. It makes my insides roil in ecstasy, it does. I want to take it to bed with me and make babies. I would totally have this poem's babies. But, it's time to pull from this--we talked about verbs in class today. Wonder if I can do better? I'll cut out all the verbs and replace them, assuming they aren't linking verbs or important or something like that:

[2]

Think how we have throttled together

eye to eye, nipple to nipple,

sex to sex, the halves of a creature

tumbling up to the lip of matter

and over it--you see me from the bright, blood-

flecked delivery room, if a lion

had you in its jaws I would lick it, if the ropes binding your soul are your own wrists, I will preforate them.

That's wonderful, yeah? What have I added to this piece? Nothing. Nope, nothing at all. All I have done is just replace already strongly placed verbs. Well, that sucks, huh? No worries, I can fix this. Let's do something fun--all nouns must die. I'm just trying it. may keep a couple.

[3]

Think how we have throttled together

to, to, to tumbling up and over--see from the

flecked if had in would lick binding preforate.

I like this a lot more. See how crazy this is getting? CRAZY IS DELICIOUS!!! I am going to stick some of my own words into it now. Needs more building:

[4]

Think how we've throttled together

to skies laced with wings, to shores harboring tourists, to mountains spattered with whitewash

tumbling up and over--see from the flecked handle a glint of flashbulb. If I had a tongue, I would

lick the bindings, preforate an arm with a tooth, drink the dribble of rain sliding down a windshield. 

And NOW it is all mine. I am content. Mission complete.

Freeballin' and freewritin' and freefallin', this is the 2nd week, kids

That's right--second journal week. How disheartening does it feel to think that this is only the second week for these journals? How much of the semester has NOT gone by? Well, to cut to the chase--in a round about way--I went to Dragoncon this weekend, which was a fantastic experience that I would recommend to anyone. I wrote some things down that I heard there, and some ideas I had--just random pieces of poetry that came to mind, and I think my goal here is to piece some of those together to make a better poem. The basis for this poem is that I was talking to my friend and sister, when I heard what I thought was the phrase "Owls in Wonderland," which made me think immediately of ways to write about Owls in Wonderland, and so I have a bit of a list poem here. Hope you love it to pieces. Speaking of loving things to pieces, I am going to try to bring some Listener into this one. Great band by the way, Listener.

Owls in Wonderland
by: David Mathis

Swim in twisting currents, hell-bent by a white moon.
Are scavengers and they will eat a child.
Grope endlessly in the light with mottled tongues to reclaim dull consonants.
Shed lightly when agitated. The feathers are used to grow owl trees.
Never notice background noise until it is too late.
Eat their weight in krill--except when they are too busy eating crows.
Never sleep with an alarm clock and even when they do, they don't hit the snooze button.
Will never talk to strangers.
Have odd dressing habits. They can be found in fashion shows.


P.S. I love the word "Consonants" and am trying to be sparing in its use. I got the idea when I wrote this poem while trying to write a love poem--love poems are so damn sappy. Stay away from them.

Spiral
by: David Mathis

Churn, flipping flat edges to grind consonants together until flaring they crumble to powdery embers;
Those embers will feed starving villages for months on end until their mouths, full of ashes, clog.
The dull sun lists, grey rays slanting weakly over a razor edged horizon and a new day
reluctantly forces swollen eyes to focus.

Spiral.

P.P.S. consonants is such a cool word. Like.. capitulation, cacophony, chiaroscuro, caramel, parallelogram, lilting, lycanthrope, cystectomy (no idea what kind of surgery that even is), incessant, cycle, casserole, croissant, cybertron, Coriolis, and a host of other amazing words that I just think sound the coolest. Especially words that either self-alliterate, or that have both harsh and soft sounds, like Casserole. LISTEN TO HOW SOUNDS FIT TOGETHER!!!

P.P.P.S. I go on too long. this is getting excessive. language isn't all about making sense--sometimes, it is about how words sound when put together.

EDIT: I did not change it with pieces from Listener! YOU LET ME FORGET!!! I will do it next time. I promise.