Kurt Brindley's Blog, page 138
October 12, 2014
Give me the Forest
give me the forest
the whispers
the wind
where only the keening call of the morrow
dare break the sacred calm of the sylvan now
the ritual of the soaring hum
give me the forest
the neglected
the free
where there are no rules
but the rooting scrawls of the cloven beast
unearthing pagan creeds
blasphemous guides to the dark
to the place where all the fears are found
all the magic
give me the forest
the sanctified
the holy
where the haunted howls of midnight
call to worship
to prayer
all the pious and profane
all the naked unbelievers who mock the baptismal of the moon
give me the forest
the ancient
the eternal
where the tattered persona is stripped away
ripped away and hung from the treetops
desperate semaphore signals for the dire
the damned
where the anima dances on fresh laid graves
sodden with tears of the holy
the helpless
Filed under: Poetry Tagged: anima, forest, nature, nature poems, pagans, persona, pious, poems, poetry, prose poetry, soul, spirit, writing
October 11, 2014
There’s something I really need to tell you…
But, in all honesty…
I’m a little scared…
I am afraid that when I tell you about that which lays so heavily on my heart…
You will immediately lose all respect for me…
And end our friendship…
But it’s really something I have to do…
Something I have been yearning to do for some time now…
But society says it’s bad…
That good boys and girls should never, ever do this…
That it’s against “the law”…
The “law”…
Who makes these “laws” anyway…
The pious…
The pedant…
You know, those kind…
The beautiful ones…
The ones oh so righteous
And the ones oh so true…
Just tell me…
Why do these hypocrites have the right to tell me how I should direct my love…
Every single one of them…
Hypocrites…
They, themselves, are constantly doing exactly that which they so fervently condemn…
They don’t think I see them wallowing in their hypocrisy…
But I do…
They, in all their self-righteousness, are no better than me…
Or you…
And yet they think they can, with the stroke of their red pen…
Or with the stinging criticism of their lashing tongue…
Keep us perfectly in our place…
Directly in their control…
Like the little lambs that we are…
The lemmings…
And for so long, they have done just that…
Because I have let them…
I have let them have power over me…
I have suppressed all that I so strongly desired just so I could abide their “laws”…
And reap their favor…
And their praise…
How I longed to not love that which I have loved for so long…
That which was strictly forbidden to me…
But tonight…
Right now…
I revoke their power…
And assume it for myself…
Tonight, right now, I have the power…
And with that power I will openly declare my love for that which they forbid…
That which for centuries has been considered evil and taboo…
Literally, to them, a mortal sin…
But tonight I shall rise up…
Tonight I shall break the conventions of normalcy…
Tonight I shall shed the chaffing shackles of oppression and humiliation…
Tonight I shall boldly and unabashedly declare my love and my devotion…
My all and my everything…
To the alluring, the sexy…
The more than a little naughty…
The compulsively and completely addictive…
The one thing that I am happily head over heals for…
And desperately in love with…
The Adverb.
Filed under: Culture, Humor Tagged: adverbs, authors, confessions, culture, grammar, grammar bullies, grammar humor, grammar nazis, humor, societal norms, taboos, writing
leverage
we pull the lever
because
the lever is there
because
the lever is there
we pull the lever
because
we pull the lever
we receive that which we desire
we desire that which we desire
because
the lever is there
Filed under: Poetry Tagged: absurdism, art, capitalism, consumerism, desire, digital art, drawings, lemmings, modernity, poems, poetry, subniveal animals, writing
Defiance
Filed under: Photography Tagged: art, defiance, GIMP, graphic design, nature, nature photography, photo design, photo editing, photography, survivors
October 10, 2014
So You Wanna Be A (Literary) Superstar – UFW
*True story.
Cypress Hill’s popular rap (I do not and will not abide by the punk arse “hip hop” nomenclature) hit (Rock) Superstar was originally entitled (Literary) Superstar. However, when it came time to record the song, B-Real, Sen Dog, and DJ Muggs had recently overindulged on the stuff that we are supposed to Just Say No To, which, if you know anything at all about Cypress, you know there is no such thing as overindulgence to them regarding the Just Say No kind of stuff.
Long story short, every time they tried to rap the words Literary Superstar, their cotton-mouthed tongues kept tripping over all the syllables.
Actually, it’s pretty tough to rap even while sober.
Go ahead and give it try…providing that you’re sober, that is.
It is Friday night after all.
Anyway…
Of course the word Rock is much easier for the THC-impaired to rap than Literary so it was quickly edited into the lyrics and the rest, as they say, is rap history.
So what you need to do, all my writin’ rappin’ literary geniuses out there, is to help restore truth to this video. Every time in the song where they rap the word Rock, I want you to rap the exceedingly superior word Literary. The louder the better.
Go ahead and give it a try.
It is Friday night after all…
–WARNING–
Be advised that this video is potentially UFW.
Yes, I know most use the acronym of NSFW, but hey, we’re writers, right? And a writers’s job is to edit that junk down, right? So why use four words – NOT SAFE FOR WORK – when three will do – UNSAFE FOR WORK?!
Am I right?
–END WARNING–
[Unfortunately, I can't find a version that will play in post. You'll have to click out to watch the video. Hate having to make you click away from here but I guess I'll have to take one for the team...]
*Yeah, you just may want to verify the veracity of that assertion with Snopes before you start spreading it around.
Filed under: Literary, Music Tagged: authors, Cypress Hill, hip hop, humor, literay, music, music videos, rap, Rock, Superstar, writers, writing
Taraxacum
It stopped him in his tracks.
Stunned, he stared at it as if he had never seen one before. Its glowing beauty.
But of course he had seen one before. He had seen many. Maybe millions.
Then why this one?
The mower handle vibrated impatiently in his hands. Let’s go, he felt it saying to him. He hesitated, unsure. Push and mow on, it seemed to demand.
How could he have never realized it before? How could it have eluded him all this time?
The mower persisted in its vibration. My job is to mow that deceptive bastard down and yours is to push. Do your job so I can do mine.
But he wasn’t listening.
He released the handle and the noise ceased abruptly. Except for the ticking hot engine, quiet consumed the yard. Callous hands tingled.
He stepped away from the mower and stepped into the unkempt grass. Kneeling before it, he leaned in close and examined it. It’s color. It’s texture. The shadow play of its vibrant-colored florets. The pale green strength of its stem. Looking even closer, the pollen-rich golden stamens.
Childhood memories. Wispy seeds floating on the wind.
The promise of what was to come.
*
Boot braced on the back of the mower, he pulled hard on the cord. The still hot engine roared back to life, seemingly more determined than ever to do its job. Ready to resume his, he took a firm grab on the handle, pushed, and mowed on.
Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: culture, dandelions, fiction, flash fiction, flowers, nature, perceptions, short stories, societal norms, stereotypes, taraxacum, weeds, writing
Literary Zen II
Filed under: Literary Tagged: author quotes, authors, books, How To Be Alone, Jonathan Franzen, literary quotes, Literary Zen, liturature, loneliness, quotes, reading, solitude, writing
October 9, 2014
Butter
Boy, I want you to butter the bread.
And remember, I like it buttery.
But Dad, it’s too hard for me to spread the lard.
Can’t Sister do it instead?
Boy, it’s up to you to butter the toast.
Cuz the only way for you to learn
To do the things that you can’t do
Is to do those things the most.
So every time there is bread to butter
I want you to spread the cream.
And soon you’ll be the best bread butterer
That the world has ever seen.
~~~~
Butter is from Poem Man, a children’s book of poetry that my family and I put together, – literally put together: the poeming, drawing, covering, printing, stapling, etc. – back at the turn of the century.
I must admit, that when my children were young I had aspirations of being the next Shel Silverstein, my favorite poet of all time. While that didn’t quite work out for me, it sure was a lot of fun fooling around with children’s poetry back then when the kids, and the internet, were still young.
It’s hard to believe the original Poem Man website, circa early 2000s, is still out there. Check it out if you’re in the need of a good chuckle.
Guess I was doing Indie before Indie was cool…
Almost forgot that I’ve already exploited Poem Man some time ago, tying in a poem, or at least attempting to, called Petey Peter the Garlic Eater with my review of W. Somerset Maugham’s masterpiece Of Human Bondage.
Yeah, I know…but what the heck, right?
Filed under: Poetry Tagged: authors, books, children's poetry, fiction, Of Human Bondage, Poem Man, poetry, Shel Silverstein, W. Somerset Maugham, writing
HYPERBOLE
It’s a good thing…
Right?
#ineverevernevereverexaggerate
#ificouldmarryhyperboleiwould
Filed under: Humor Tagged: definitions, exaggeration, fiction, humor, hyperbole, things i love, word humor, words, writing, writing humor
