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APAD, week two
Apr. 14th, 2019 06:56 amDay eight
the prompt was to write about earth as an alien
Polar Bears, Buddhas, Kittens, Sleeping Babies, Homeless People, Flowers Opening, Atomic Mushrooms, Sunsets Sun Rises, mass migrations of Birds Fish Mammals, Insects; a billion tiny wings , pictures spinning each picture the cover for a volume of data TOO MUCH DATA. A billion references full of an unfathomable number of words, each thought a note in a separate symphony... discordant at times and sweet at others, sensations in this body that he can no longer bare, this body made of Earthly awareness, this body flinging to the walls his costumed unanimity, his cosmetically altered personal loneliness, his desire for connection and inability to connect.
“I am alien. We are all alien. We are so unbearably lonely”.
Day nine
prompt was to write about "the writer's desk"
Oh WRITER'S desk,
with your
stickers of the spice Girls that she cannot scrape off,
and desktop computer she doesn't know where to take
warning her of unimaginable punishments for having an inauthentic version of Windows
AND sitting beside it the new laptop she can't talk about because she gets faint when
she thinks of her credit card debt.
The NEW version of Word seems to mock her
with its phoney concern and encouragement like
a relative on suicide watch, overly cheerful greeting
"Welcome back! Pick up where you left off?"
You are NOT a "writer's desk".
You killed the writer with your expectations
your blinking accusing cursor
that wakes her in the middle of the night
"ASSHOLE ASSHOLE ASSHOLE"
just fuck off!
Day ten
not from the prompt
I don't want to think about it,
manage mostly to forget and
besides,
nobody else knows,
I look good enough, I smile and I'm fine.
You know I always prefer clothes with pockets and
when I get nervous, well,
I hide my hands
and there it is,
My fingers slip around it
dried to a hard stone
and soon I'm dissolving in shame
enough to rehydrate a desert.
But you say
that's just me being dramatic.
You're fine too.
This was never your heart.
Day 10
The prompt was, first kiss
My First Kiss I thought
there was never anything
ever before THIS
Day 11 (For Alexander McQueen)
not sure what the prompt was but I watched the docu on netflix
Give me enough time and I'll start a revolution"
When the divine speaks through all tooo human flesh
So fragile and temporary
Without cauterizing all the wounds
inflicted on the artist's heart,
The message bleeds out
Becomes an awesome river
And we the hungry mob drin at its shores,
Frenziedparticipants in his beautiful and terrifying show
Day 12 Black Hole prompt
First,
a sensation of being sucked into mud
while simultaneously being crushed,
then, on the other side of the peer edit
you find yourself senseless
as everything tht mattered
collapses into the nonreflective
singularity of
WTF
Day 13
prompt was something about what you thought a poet was when you were young or something like that, it went on, the prompt did and I could see the person already had a poem in mind or at least an agenda so I just took some of the word in the prompt and moved them around till I got this. I think it is my best this month.
when you were young
before
you could
write
a poem
you were a poem
Prompt 14
Prompt: Old Friends
There once was the idea that
a person would spend the first twenty years on learning
the next establishing themselves in some way in the world (family, social activism or commerce)
and the last twenty in contemplation, in some cultures in a monastery, walk-about, or in a cave in a wood, like a witch or a Bodhidharma
and then drop dead at sixty.
Now few people die at sixty, and they can be any age beyond, even one hundred.
Some get easy, delighting in the world.
Poverty,
reduced pliancy of all sorts
and loss are not the same for them.
Time becomes a companion that opens doors to everywhere.
When you meet them you can see
from birth to death
they aren't afraid,
they are like a needle
that can pierce all contexts,
and they laugh
at confusion,
especially
their own.
They have room for you.
But some get stuck
like the friends who
tell anyone in earshot
how much everything sucks
and who wrecked the world for them
and how cool they were before they got old.
the prompt was to write about earth as an alien
Polar Bears, Buddhas, Kittens, Sleeping Babies, Homeless People, Flowers Opening, Atomic Mushrooms, Sunsets Sun Rises, mass migrations of Birds Fish Mammals, Insects; a billion tiny wings , pictures spinning each picture the cover for a volume of data TOO MUCH DATA. A billion references full of an unfathomable number of words, each thought a note in a separate symphony... discordant at times and sweet at others, sensations in this body that he can no longer bare, this body made of Earthly awareness, this body flinging to the walls his costumed unanimity, his cosmetically altered personal loneliness, his desire for connection and inability to connect.
“I am alien. We are all alien. We are so unbearably lonely”.
Day nine
prompt was to write about "the writer's desk"
Oh WRITER'S desk,
with your
stickers of the spice Girls that she cannot scrape off,
and desktop computer she doesn't know where to take
warning her of unimaginable punishments for having an inauthentic version of Windows
AND sitting beside it the new laptop she can't talk about because she gets faint when
she thinks of her credit card debt.
The NEW version of Word seems to mock her
with its phoney concern and encouragement like
a relative on suicide watch, overly cheerful greeting
"Welcome back! Pick up where you left off?"
You are NOT a "writer's desk".
You killed the writer with your expectations
your blinking accusing cursor
that wakes her in the middle of the night
"ASSHOLE ASSHOLE ASSHOLE"
just fuck off!
Day ten
not from the prompt
I don't want to think about it,
manage mostly to forget and
besides,
nobody else knows,
I look good enough, I smile and I'm fine.
You know I always prefer clothes with pockets and
when I get nervous, well,
I hide my hands
and there it is,
My fingers slip around it
dried to a hard stone
and soon I'm dissolving in shame
enough to rehydrate a desert.
But you say
that's just me being dramatic.
You're fine too.
This was never your heart.
Day 10
The prompt was, first kiss
My First Kiss I thought
there was never anything
ever before THIS
Day 11 (For Alexander McQueen)
not sure what the prompt was but I watched the docu on netflix
Give me enough time and I'll start a revolution"
When the divine speaks through all tooo human flesh
So fragile and temporary
Without cauterizing all the wounds
inflicted on the artist's heart,
The message bleeds out
Becomes an awesome river
And we the hungry mob drin at its shores,
Frenziedparticipants in his beautiful and terrifying show
Day 12 Black Hole prompt
First,
a sensation of being sucked into mud
while simultaneously being crushed,
then, on the other side of the peer edit
you find yourself senseless
as everything tht mattered
collapses into the nonreflective
singularity of
WTF
Day 13
prompt was something about what you thought a poet was when you were young or something like that, it went on, the prompt did and I could see the person already had a poem in mind or at least an agenda so I just took some of the word in the prompt and moved them around till I got this. I think it is my best this month.
when you were young
before
you could
write
a poem
you were a poem
Prompt 14
Prompt: Old Friends
There once was the idea that
a person would spend the first twenty years on learning
the next establishing themselves in some way in the world (family, social activism or commerce)
and the last twenty in contemplation, in some cultures in a monastery, walk-about, or in a cave in a wood, like a witch or a Bodhidharma
and then drop dead at sixty.
Now few people die at sixty, and they can be any age beyond, even one hundred.
Some get easy, delighting in the world.
Poverty,
reduced pliancy of all sorts
and loss are not the same for them.
Time becomes a companion that opens doors to everywhere.
When you meet them you can see
from birth to death
they aren't afraid,
they are like a needle
that can pierce all contexts,
and they laugh
at confusion,
especially
their own.
They have room for you.
But some get stuck
like the friends who
tell anyone in earshot
how much everything sucks
and who wrecked the world for them
and how cool they were before they got old.
I didn't like all the cardboard pieces and so have taken on the job of making tiny zombies for the next game!
