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Slam the Poetry Down…

it difficult to take the hint that one has the capacity to be a little more astute than the rest in certain ways defying a preconceived notion of ability, a marionette on strings of my own devising where the belief creates the reality that surrounds and attempts to reinforce itself in order to conform the organic structure to the needs of the rabid multitude that cares not for the stray artistic flourish when taken out of context, but still we seek and demand the artist to reinterpret our own disfigured pace into this something more palatable that we crave to fit our viewpoints… it is the nerve of some people who believe they have the artistic merit and mastery to force the work into a place desiring of release from what was built up previous to this, that which transformed into this situation we have now as the present moment following a sequence of events that leads to either destruction or induction of all these parts as they keep moving forward to meet the unseen goal established once it is done, but what is the need to introduce the expression if there is a feeling as though a vital something were missing… leeching the energy from all the adjacent tissues to feed a primal hunger that requires a certain amount of forgive and forsake instead of live and let die, is there any reason to think we cannot enjoy this time in our lives as we step on the toes of those that made us who we are, and is there any hope of acting to right the wrongs we have labored for at some winsome point when we thought we were devoted to something true in vision… Here to create these dead things to ogle at as they sway on display like hanging carcass of meat with only the slightest hint of a former life, shapes moving and shifting into other pronounced objects of abjection as the will wanders closer to an edge perceived on the fringes of polite consuming urges as though quantified and qualified by the lack of respect we claim not to adhere to, but a lusty whim exists that reaches for the exit of every creature in order to have fabricated the next movement as something more ever evolving in form… a collection of traits and tainted repercussions as the face distorts and chortles with that demon laughter from the abyss or well of souls that awaits our return one day too soon, and some of us we pray that we do not become as prey for the butcher’s blind indifferent hands unseen in the conscious dark as they move to fetch a new form from the artist’s palate in colors of blood and rusty hues, the terrorist inside of us gropes for right conclusions that no one will witness in the haunted realm of our most common mentality as we confuse ourselves for other people we do not know… i blame my uncertainty for tainting my bloody mind to death about this or that trivial detail taken too far for granted, it took me a long absurd walk half spaced out of my mind going someplace i had never been to reach the coffee bar slash open mic poetry night inside of a strange sanctuary as church now charged with the nervous energy it would take to stand up and read my blown out of proportion words, but now i was not prepared with the blogging pleonexia i have read aloud in front of audiences before… i had to create something new and different on the fly, and i had been challenged by myself to do this without any preconceived notions of what i was to present to people i did not know, not being alone helped greatly as my will was weak though still excited to spout something that needs expression from my inner being… my friend reinforced the fact that seemed like fiction until it was spelled out for me that the nervous feelings were the appropriate guide for that next step, and to perform is the next step appropriate for my artistic visions to reach fruition where the world can see what i expose, all the layers of the cake exposed to the rot and decay as it has enshrouded the commercial mind of the consumer demographic in forever by now as the general law assimilates and names the victims and the villains… as these handful of poets expressed their unique visions in a couple different formats, i sat and wrote the poetry i would read taking impetus from the other visions mingling Here and Now that naturally pours out of the creative urge, but as i walked to the stage with nerves in my veins and adjusted my glasses on my face to read from my sketchbook… the poems were short and my voice was powerful as was my informal style and presence for which i was praised by those i had only just met, i speak on the topics of many things almost always within the same post at one time as all the many tangents come together as angles do to make their points as acute as can be when all else might seem shady or too obtuse, but as i reached the end of the set in improvisational fashion that was when the energy really now started to flow from a place that appears as an altar to the Muse…. and i was blown away by this new degree of the shame that utterly disappeared as i came clear with my contribution to the civic sensibility, the art had dissolved into me and vise versa when the threshold crossed me to get to the next step among my peers and friendly hangers-on with their potential performance as bliss, and still i cannot wait to get that feeling again…

Thanks, khet.