Other № 79497
Skull Soup v.2
[well, first revisal, old version included at the bottom.]
v.2:
"Words like spices in my gumbo
leave most asking what dwells
within the murky waters."
All thats said and written
will be distorted once expressed,
for we are slaves to symbols;
isolated beings assimilating everything
as we see fit into our own alien realities.
"I boil and brew this stew
as would a deranged alchemist
in love with creating his potions."
I am a poet; an artist
who tries to achieve something
unattainable.
That fact alone
gives me meaning, purpose,
and glory.
This fact leaves me smiling slightly,
dragging on menthol cigarettes
and muttering softly
"Say nothing; just stir the soup
that simmers in their skulls
add meat 'n spices
and pray it doesn't taste like shit."
This reality
though it might be
completely absurd and foolish
is my paragon.
Everything else?
Garlic 'n Honey
and a cooks drollery.
___________________________________________________________
Old Version:
What are words
but symbols
spoken and written
with vague definitions
and assumed meaning?
What do they convey?
An image
which might be clearer
if shown with the colors
possessed by a painter?
An emotion
which one has felt,
better understood if we
endure its sensation
as he who receives it?
A message
that would be understood
if read or heard
by he who speaks it?
Does it really matter what?
All thats said and written
will be distorted once expressed,
for we are slaves to symbols;
isolated beings assimilating everything
as we see fit into our own alien realities.
Did I mention that we claim to communicate?
What are these questions but
distractions that puzzle our thoughts
leading to answers that solve nothing?
What was the point of this verse of mine?
Nothing.
And that is the beauty of it.
I am a poet.
I am an artist who tries to achieve
something unattainable.
That fact alone
gives me meaning, purpose,
and glory.
This fact leaves me smiling slightly,
dragging on menthol cigarettes
and muttering softly
"Say nothing; just stir the soup
that simmers in their skulls
add meat 'n spices
and pray it doesn't taste like shit."
This reality
though it might be
completely absurd and foolish
is my paragon.
Everything else?
Garlic 'n Honey
and a cooks drollery.
19 comments
muttering more.. well, lets see where I can add some more of that 'n extra cookin after I lighten some of the theory some first.
The thing that makes it a bit hard is that i started all theoretical 'n introspective and added the ending when i realized the piece turned out.. well fucking rigid and somewhat dull.
extending the metaphor into the theory bits used will certainly be messy, but fuck it, its been too long since my last signature food metaphor piece..
Middleman was first.
Sorry to leave you hangin'. I'm trying a financial hail-mary move right now. It's fly or die time.
Chinese room - a man is sent into a room not understanding chinese, but nevertheless given a book which helps him transform chinese questions into answers.
The first stanza - mixed metaphor, I think you can fix it with removing the last three lines (and still completely retain the meaning).
It may be my taste, but I kept feeling like strings of words could be removed here and there, maybe 2,3 words in a row - to make the remainder more rich.
But then I crossbred a cook with a poet and cooking metaphors for the theory.
Honestly though, I wrote this up just to write something really.. anything. It atleast managed to evolve into a fancy punchline.
Oh, and who do you think I should direct my thoughts to? other than my innumerouse personalities, the bastards next door, or other characters involved in my comic existence? I'm accepting all suggestions at this time.
I agree "shit" seemed out of place, but still one of your best. (version 2.0)
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