The Madness of pavement speak

" take away my typewriter, and all you have left, is the sickness that started me writing in the first place, " C Bukowski

The words flowed like monsoon mud, I couldn't stop, it did not stop, a fever came and entered me, fucked me from behind my  mind fucked mind, like the mute that learned to talk and talk, and the blind man that saw too much, the hand seized up, the ink ran dry, the pages turned and burned and turned away, and language spilled outside my mind, and still, and still, on and on, no end in sight, no reason, rhyme, no purpose in this pointless s**t, I spewed upon the hapless page, the sickness was unending, I prayed to god, I wished for death, I cried and lied, and hoped to hell for some kind of understanding, but there was nought and I was nix, and rivers flowed and mountains slept, and oceans went unanswered, and dreamt of sand within my blood, collapsing and congealing, and wrote it down, in s**t on walls and pissed my name in imagined snow, and drank too much to stop the thinking, and thought too much too, and four makes five, and wired alive, and sought the church for sanctuary, for sanity, and lost it in an instant, the bones of dead men speak to me, taunt me with their indifference, and still, and still, and more, and more, the pen destroyed the end, and scarred the page, and scared the night, and rambled, never ending, and dawn broke upon my spine, damaged, non returning, the fog remained, the dusk retired, and it rained and rained and rained, and in the damp reclusive eye, I spied some colours dancing, shadows merging, black was white, and grey was non-exsistent, the fields ran dry, the flowers died, and ennui was abundant ,with heavy arms and lifeless limbs, I carried death aloft, it laughed at me, mocked me in my sorrow, I looked afar, I looked too far, no line on the horizon, for I was blinded by a rising sun, and died a death undecided, reborn, afresh, screaming freshly screaming, in morning's dew, the morning's due, surely, as surely as a lion's roar, a tiger stripe, a panda not procreating, I tell myself, soon, too soon, I answer back, f**k you and f**k you, and woke into a fitful sleep of regret and useless memories, the end was nigh, the sign said now, the road retracted unbending, it raced behind my fragile skin, and re-appeared upon my brow, the future frowned, the past was dead, resurrected, the now was now, and dead and gone, the dead were alive and kicking, against the pricks, against the walls, one last puff of cancer mind, inhaled and held too long, the eyes upon the mantle refuse to blink, and I stare back entranced, a mirror breaks, already broken, a clown laughs and sighs, the beast within, escaped somehow, and spoken wordaged on a whim,  the wounded soldiers brought to life,  a mist of hazy phantoms, the broken window laughed at things in chaos form, entropy encroaching, quantum physics blinks it's mind, the meaning is in nothing, reality waves crashing

                                                                                                             

 burning

                                                                                                               silent

                                                                                                               sound

                                          

Reviews

[Eilis]

This gives me a feeling more than a definite sense of meaning. I don't always think meaning is important. Sometimes I think understanding the underlying way the world is impressed upon the mind that is writing is the more pressing thing. Chaos reigns in the creative mind that is barred from creating. Sometimes creation is a means of rebirth when inside there are storms that rage and need tempering through expending their energy.

Every creation story I have ever read began with a chaos and void. Which seems to point to the fact that order is birthed from chaos. Or perhaps that we learn of our need for order because we first experience chaos. But we have to have some way of bundling the chaos neatly or it will destroy us.

I liked the way you took these impossibilities and made them reality. The mute speaking, the blind seeing. I read a poem where Lazarus was unhappy to be brought back from the dead. Can't remember where I read it, will try to find it again. But there is something in that, I think. What we think we or others are missing, may not be so easily replaced or improved. Sometimes an end is the meaning itself and what comes after may not be discernible by us, but that doesn't mean it's necessarily negative. I think that's unrelated to your poem. Maybe not. I'm just trying to piece my ideas together.

What I get from this, mostly, is that there is a need and also no way of meeting it. And the need to meet it becomes more urgent and the inhabitants of the mind become more ornery as time goes on. I believe the mind is populated. And even though those people and things are confined within that space, it does not mean they have no power to impact our lives or health. As your Bukowski quote alludes--if we lose the power of expression, there is a greater loss than merely the creative one.

Rambling. This is deep and makes me feel like a wander through the levels of hell in someone's mind. It is intense and unsettling. But also communicates, to my mind, the importance of release through self-expression. Good stuff, Gram.

[gram linski]

thanks, Eilis, it was a bit of a mad ramble of pavement speak spewed upon the sidewalk, but you are right about the chaos of mind a gift and scourge, lol, and trying to express the madness and nonsense that clutters the brain the flow of sound bubbles all bouncing about bursting over each other , not the most coherent way to explain a poem but think you will understand always appreciate your thoughts and comments, Eilis

[barleygirl]

I am reviewing you as I drink my second cup of coffee & NO pot yet today. Lets see if I can make more sense! *wink! wink!* Even tho I feel sure this is about the inner torment that drives us to write, I found myself thinking along different lines as I read your powerfully explosive depiction of how those manic railings ravage my mind all the time. Many times lately the conservative voices hammer those "protestors" who do destructive s**t that's totally uncalled for. I do not dispute that this is wrong & has no place in the annals of history about how protesting has possibly made life better for some group. However, what's often missing from almost every discussion (in my humble opinion) is to address WHY people do senseless destructive s**t. It's like nobody has the slightest curiosity about what drives people to be animalistic, unfair, & destructive as they strike out. There's no acknowledgement that most humans do not do this kind of s**t unless they've reached some point of no return where life feels so utterly hopeless, they don't distinguish stuff like "does this person deserve to have their store burned down when they did nothing at all to stoke the fires of rage?" Your spill reminds me of that kind of senseless rage & hopelessness that drives people to act in ways that are so ineffective, it makes their situation worse, not better. It happens all the time. And hardly anybody wants to see it, so they get on their soapbox & moralize about how wrong it all is. We have all reached such points of senseless grinding & mind-blotting emotion. Some are better than others at channeling this or hiding it. Thank you for considering my unstoned analysis of your powerful writing (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[gram linski]

consider your unstoned analysis, considered and appreciated, Margie, you make some great points unfortunately I think we have always been animalistic and brutal , that's why war is a multi billion dollar market for Trump and all his f**k hole mates and the f*****g rest of them, my Govt is no better, is basically your b***h, I totally agree about the burning and looting it's senseless, and the people, employees, are going to be local, I do understand the removal of statues, but maybe get some local artists to make some abstract sculpture of them , so the history remained but has been given a new dynamic ,but aye it was about the first thing you mentioned, thanks as always for visiting , appreciate