Violator of the Poetic Arts.

So I got back some "work" back from my professor the other day...I've discovered I'm very bad at poetry...

THE FOLLOWING IS ACTUAL REAL-LIFE FEEDBACK (UNFILTERED) FROM PROFESSORS CONCERNING MY "POETRY". VIEWER DISCRETION ADVISED:

"L-
This isn't quite the level I'd like to see you performing at. The sentiment I won't quarrel with, but its presentation really isn't artful. It's much more like a greeting card than a work of utterance. I know you have it in you to do strong, complex work. I'll need to see your "Block, Pillar, Slab, and Beam" assignment very soon please. I really don't want anymore of the abstract expression or deep emotional feeling stuff for awhile--you need to work long and hard to learn how to handle that. It's not like the material is forbidden in all cases. It's more like we need to practice making a sandwich before we attempt a souffle."


"L-
I want you to try a poem that is primarily descriptive, all of the rhetoric and wisdom and praise business you have going on herte is still a bit beyond your reach. Build towards it. You need to work in description, images, concrete stuff. Look at Marianne Moore's work, I want another poem at the same level of artfullness as your "Me"/running poem."

"L-
The poem is very haunting, the scene, the mood, even the rhyme all conspire to make a dreamlike encounter. I love the passion and energy of your writing but be careful not to let your langauge lapse into a yester lexicon."

On that note V-readers: the following "poem" is a half-hearted attempt to meet the very unclear and vaguely verbose demands of a college professor...

OCEAN-EYED THOUGHTS.

My grey matter’s hyper-wanderings have distinct personalities; exactly the same twice the same about the flecked river;

they are born, they live,and then die as a sunset is always a different flavor-bursting and pulsing in a cadence of heartbeats.

Morphing every hemisphere: spunk-infused quirk.

With tilted-head the Universe of bitten-cuticles assembles a double helix: code manifested puzzle-creating an erotically breathing mural.

Shuffling profiles in a modified familiarity:

I mine for the model of a moment.

Yet for such a stare- I could not recall a hue!

Immense ocular complexities whisper so much truth that everything becomes a lie:

Sunsets, like virginity, can never be sold twice.

So I thirst for stability in a reality pot-marked with rage;

but the only thing of certainty is unrelenting change.

Morphology: an untamable beast I insist to adorn

with cage and a titanium leash.

Flitting beneath an amorphous veil of intangibility;

held by a gaze that’s everywhere in a nowhere-

but I share a hunger that’s well-kempt for squelchy traits so foreign and fair.

A melting visualization in primordial stone (without the neccesary heat)

--Is like feathers made of scales flying with limbs that consistantly fail.

Bobbing in and out,

to tend to those ceaselessly-consumed sandcastles oozing salty drool;

I float with a current

permeable as leather skin.

That passive grit of sand--

bejeweled by waves of opals

(that crashy splash, with crashy splash)

It banishes me with scaley-feathers to wander idly

through tidal waves of irises

--absorbing only the nocturnal depth of a cornea.

VOMITROCIOUS.

The mere idea is stomach-churning: creating food from human feces.
We can thank your friendly Japanese researchers for this new-found "Brave New World-esc" bio-friendly/economical diet option. They have synthesized meat from proteins found in people's CRAP, (according to news reports.)
While the concept of chowing down on steak derived from poop may not exactly be appetizing...there's a more pressing question: is this meat safe?
In theory, yes, experts say. (* But the meat must be cooked, which will kill any noxious pathogens before you eat it.)
"In the food safety world we say, 'don't eat poop,'" said Douglas Powell, a professor of food safety at Kansas State University. "But if you're going to, make sure it's cooked."
The Japanese researchers isolated proteins from bacteria in sewage. The poop-meat concoction is prepared by extracting the basic elements of food — protein, carbohydrates and fats — and recombining them.
The meat is made from 63 percent proteins, 25 percent carbohydrates, 3 percent lipids and 9 percent minerals, according to Digital Trends. Soy protein is added to the mix to increase the flavor, and food coloring is used to make the product appear red.
The researchers came up with the idea after Tokyo Sewage asked them to figure out a use for the abundance of sewage in mud, Digital Trends says.
Powell is not familiar with the researchers' method, but said he guesses that they are first heat-treating the sewage before they reap its resources.
Powell said the idea is not all that different from eating plants that have been fertilized with manure or other excrement, because the nutrients in the poop become part of the plants.
"Theoretically, there's nothing wrong with this," Powell said. "It could be quite safe to eat, but I'm sure there's a yuck factor there," he said.
However, Powell said there is the potential for cross contamination in the laboratory where the poop meat is made. That's why it's a good thing the meat will eventually be cooked.
But what if the final product was not going to be cooked?
"I wouldn’t touch it, " Powell said.
Pass it on: Meat made from poop is safe, but you should cook it before you eat it.

Very-Much Needed Reality Checker: Articles that Challenge Our Sense of What is Real.

"...fashion being an equation, poetry is geekier math. "

- We are actually discussing a semi-worth-my-time poem in my analysis class..really made me think a bit. enjoy.

A DISH OF PEACHES IN RUSSIA

With my whole body I taste these peaches,

I touch them and smell them. Who speaks?

I absorb them as the Angevine

Absorbs Anjou. I see them as a lover sees,

As a young lover sees the first buds of spring

And as the black Spaniard plays his guitar.

Who speaks? But it must be that I,

That animal, that Russian, that exile, for whom

The bells of the chapel pullulate sounds at

Heart. The peaches are large and round,

Ah! and red; and they have peach fuzz, ah!

They are full of juice and the skin is soft.

They are full of the colors of my village

And of fair weather, summer, dew, peace.

The room is quiet where they are.

The windows are open. The sunlight fills

The curtains. Even the drifting of the curtains,

Slight as it is, disturbs me. I did not know

That such ferocities could tear

One self from another, as these peaches do.

-Wallace Stevens

Poem of the Day: Turn and Cough

Limbs-locked,

coiled thick in tendriled-rope;

devoured by your lucid eyes --those hazel microscopes!

Stitches burst open,

weeping silky lies unbound.

Giggling irises seem bright

--(till you hear them speak) cuz light travels faster than sound.

So page by page; we diligently dig

--releasing quite a gale.

my bottomless pit digest’s it’s sin;

and with vodka’s help; those whispers are served pale.

It can’t be stitched-up; murmuring it will wallow--

till you breathe in that place,

nestling deeply in those raw-hollows

beneath that willowy armor yet consoled by melodies of pot-marked truth,

For faith includes believing beyond any power: reason,rhyme or proof.

And so I remain crippled,dazed yet contently aloof...

...listlessly hammering (paralyzed and bruised).

Under the general-anesthesia...

.....my heart forever musters of you.

Vidgey-Vacations and Vegete Ventures

FRIDAY.Friday. Gotta get down on Friday. (HA.Yeah, right.) <-----(click on the comment in parenthesis)

AHHHHH..Nothin' like riding the subway home from work after yet another "rowdy" (negative connotation) week with nothing to look forward to but a lonely 48 hours; overflowing with the prospect of laundry and solitary writing. I enviously eyed the general buzz wafting through my subway car; absorbing the electric chatter of home-bound school children and Wall-street twenty-somethings. Heck, even the corporate-zombies' with pre-maturely-creased eyes were dribbling positive vibes!ugh.

"110th street. Next stop is 116th: Columbia University."

Awkwardly stumbling out the car, I walked into the blinding sunlight pouring down the bruised subway staircase. Having absolutely no plans, I slugged through groups of boisterous frolic; finally lulling to a stop at 113th street. 'Change light. CHANGE.'

Just then a robotic-voiced lady screeching from the depths of purse announced, "Message from: VIDG-STER."

(I'm still a little creeped out that my free piece-o- shit phone from Verizon actually speaks words.)

Anyway, long story short... Vidgester randomly invited me over to her house for the weekend. SCORE.

The next morning I woke up and had a much better subway trip to Penn Station. Once I figured out my train info, I waited in the NJ Transit waiting area.

So, this image I encountered stepping of the Jersey Transit will NEVER escape my memory.EVER. A shades-on Laura Vigilante, blasting "Born This Way" from the driver-seat of a yellow convertible bug.

After spending an adventurous weekend with Vidgster and the family, I was actively paying for a weekend of frivolity in the computer lab. Purfusely sweating, having just sprinted from the subway from work and already ten minutes late for class, I was trying to print my homework for class in Lerner computer lab...when naturally, I noticed this cute guy sitting next to me. However, due to my lateness, I quickly forgot about his presence.

"Damn- ittttt!" I exasperatedly hissed.

The freakin' printers would conveintly decide to not work now...ughhhh

Banging on computer keys while listening to Eminem under my noise-canceling headphones, I hardly noticed the cute guy leave.

FINALLY. My papers were printing. There is a god.

Frantic with hyteric adreneline and caffiene, I shoved my various belongings into my tattered bag. Suddenly the computer lab door opened again, and the cute came right at me...he dropped a piece of folded noteboook paper on top of my books and swiftly left. Startled and slightly puzzled, I froze just looking at the crumpled piece of paper that I hastily smushed in my pocket. Later, during my 4 hour poetry class (we discussing a poem about a debatably symbolic trout...for 2 hours. NOTE: sometimes a fish poem is just a fish poem, people!) I un-crinkled the luke-warm paper wad. It read:

"Hey.

I didn't know how to start a convo. with a stranger in the comp. lab (you looked mad ha).My name's Green-Eyed God (whoa, chill out people...obviously this is just a self-contrived nickname for GEG's privacy concerns.)I think you're ridiculously cute. I'm here for class on Mondays and Thursdays. Shoot me a call or text if you would ever wanna grab lunch or dinner!(phone number here)

-Green-eyed God

WOW.Moneyinthebankkkkkkk!

I sent him a text and we met for dinner the next night(which was awesome.) Since then we've had a series of (in my opinion) hilarious adventures!Hopefully I'll get to share them with ya'll before summer's over...work's been overwhelmingly(but enjoyably) demanding (don't forget the head-bang-against-the-wall poetry analysis classes ha). On another note, I"M BACK ON THE RUNNING TRAIN (aka I'm in a more positive mood than usual haha.)

Anyway...PEACE OUT.

-L