You’ll coddle that beast

That pound of microdots could coalesce
into your twin in and from your head.
May learn how to age fast
or how to shed that gait
because the floor can’t judge
it being naked, born where you
stalked a high in a server’s womb
there sitting on your shoulder,
that shoulder you shake and mutter to.
All medulla and no limbic man
that, if you held its feeble hand,
would maul you dead happier than
the people who gave birth to someone
who once resembled you, your twin.

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~ by Jeremy on December 10, 2010.

21 Responses to “You’ll coddle that beast”

  1. I realise that what I think is missing from your poetry is that it amounts to nothing. It’s like me over elaborating about what I had for breakfast.

    I had crunchy nut
    I like crunchy nut,
    crunchy nut tastes good
    was allergic to nuts
    not allergic to nuts
    I like nuts
    I had crunchy nut

    It’s like…rambling. Like, the audience is so dumb you actually have to come to a clear conclusion. I feel odd, I also feel a bit mean for saying this but I’m not being mean so there and you also said something about people making mistakes then not liking it when others said they made mistakes and I don’t think this is a mistake, but.

    Um, yeah, alright.

  2. Also, in your new facebook profile picture, you look kind of like a thing and I think when you’re older and famous and bitter and telling everyone your story, the press will get ahold of that picture and say This is Jeremy. This was Jeremy.

    I’m just warning you.

  3. His pointless elaboration works in some instances. Jeremy’s writing is very stream-of-conscious, I think, which is what gives it a rambling feel. Every sentence builds on the prior, in a most literal sense. But I don’t believe he’s actually rambling, being too intelligent for that. In poems such as “The excise blown”, this technique works well, streaming to a poignant finish. Not so much in the one above.

    And anyhow, all poets are hit and miss.

  4. Mental illness and poly-drug use. Not writing about “nothing,” see elsewhere for nothing.

  5. Also, noticed something, a tactic of mine I consider a vice.

    If I see something that threatens me, and threats have a broad spectrum, I judge it as if it is, say, nothing, or ignorant, pointless, inept. As for making mistakes and recognising them, that never goes out of style, for anyone, especially females. If this were a defense, it’d be intact. I wrote this piece shitfaced drunk and it’s more coherent than my sober offerings, I’ll take that and swallow it for what it is.

    Have to be intimate with falling down to intimate its fitting phrases to those intimate with it. Does not work with sober people, I know this because I was once sober, and dared to attack heroin. When writing about heroin, I did not know what to say.

    Now, I can say a stairway between waking up drooling or staying awake drooling, covered in lava with a skein of steel over you. Not too hot, reeking of histamine, and nodding. So, if you haven’t made inebriation a part of your daily life, you will not get some things on an overt or covert level. Shit happens, I don’t get pussy jokes.

    Gents.

  6. I didn’t call Jeremy’s ramblings pointless. I just said they amounted to nothing. It may do nothing for me, but it might do something for someone else. When I say ‘amounts to nothing’ – you know and I know that it’s an opinion. If I take out the ‘in my opinion…’ it’s still an opinion.

    And no, I haven’t ‘made inebriation a part of my daily life.’ I really like orange juice, though.

    😛

  7. Pussy amounts to nothing. An opinion.

    See, that amounts to nothing. Be more specific in your critical offerings. Refer to the poem as a whole, be broad all you want, but do not confuse things. Amounting to nothing means one thing, doing nothing for me means another.

    For instance, not understanding a reference is doing nothing for you. Reading dada amounts to nothing.

  8. And you can fuck off with judging my appearance. You resemble every other painted up whore in Knoxville, I don’t call you a thing. Whatever the fuck a thing means. I look like I’m orange?

    My response to you is the same to another: I smoke, I wear wife beaters. If I’m going to be in a picture, I’ll look like I was photographed on a goddamn safari in my natural habitat. Didn’t take senior pictures, didn’t take prom pictures, or even go to that shit, don’t appear in pictures with friends, matter of fact, fuck a picture, I’m drawing myself from now on.

  9. …what?

    I didn’t judge your appearance, not at all. If you can show me where I did, I’ll apologise. The only thing I talked about was the press getting a hold of the picture, and, in case you haven’t realised, I was’t being serious. No, I wasn’t joking but I certainly wasn’t being serious. But if I’d said that to you in person then I’d probably be smiling.

    You look like you’re orange? What?

    Thing? For God’s sake. Just because you’re able with words, doesn’t mean the rest of the world are. I wasn’t calling you a thing, I was interchanging ‘thing’ with whatever word I couldn’t find to summarise. ‘You look like a thing’ – ‘you look like a _______’ I did not mean literally a thing. I couldn’t find a word.

    I thought you looked nice in your profile picture. I thought it looked interesting.

    Painted up whore? Thank you very much. You know, I know I may not be the prettiest girl in the world, but I do occasionally try when my appearance is concerned, the occasional times of which are captured on camera. I wonder, Jeremy, what qualifies a girl to be a ‘painted up whore’? I wear make-up in only one of my pictures, so, to be quite honest, I don’t know what you’re talking about. But since you seem to be so eager to proclaim it now, I’d rather you have told me what you thought of me before I made an effort to comment on a blog that others did’t seem to be.

    A ‘painted up whore’? Gotta had it to you, Jeremy, where the art of scaring people away is concerned, you’ve sure got it down pat.

  10. Fantastic Four. One of them was orange, and the least attractive.

    Beyond painted up whore, I’ll replace that with “desk.” Replace “desk” with whatever you want, and as far as scaring people away goes, I don’t recall inviting you. No, I didn’t, nor do I much care for half-assed commentary.

  11. No, you didn’t invite me in. But that doesn’t me that I wasn’t there. And yes, before you say, you didn’t ask me to be there but that doesn’t make a difference to whether I was or not. And, as I said, if that’s really what you thought of me, then you only had to tell me instead of responding to the comments I made on this blog with something resembling civility. I know the comments I make on here aren’t helpful, but I acknowledged that fact and I did try. So, for the fourth time, you only had to tell me and I would have stopped. Also, I’m sorry. I re-read my post and I saw how it may look that I was negatively judging your appearance. But I really wasn’t.

    And, just to set things straight, I don’t think you’re ugly. Thanks anyway for being nice for at least a while. (:

  12. Fuck if I care. Was my response all that different than usual?

    I got one word. Fuck. Apply that piece of poverty to anything. That, this, appearances, especially civility. I’m not going to come to anyone with a rose and a pot of soup. I mean, fuck that.

    I don’t care if someone fucks a dog or blows a bum. Does not matter. One thing I care about when it comes down to it is width of commentary. Be an asshole or a saint or both, you live in something, you say something about it. But do be powerful with it. Do not express intellectual laze or ineptitude, or else you and words have no business together.

  13. But hey, heheh, you want to fuck and you got a plane ticket?

  14. Well, I’m not going to say that I wasn’t surprised at the ferocity of your reply. I really didn’t intend to criticise your appearance. If anything, I was complimenting you. I really do think you’ll be a famous poet one day – well, as famous as a poet can be in modern times. Jeremy, just because you are better with words than I, does not mean I am bad with words. I have said that I can see how you could have interpreted my post the way you did, but I phrased myself that way because, had my post and I been unfamiliar to each other, I would have interpreted it with the emotion I intended if I’d written the post.

    Also, one day, perhaps when I’m sixteen or seventeen, I am going to visit you. I’ll ask Adrienne for your address so that I can surprise you. Likely, I’ll be holding a box of Guylian’s and maybe flowers, but I don’t think you’re the type for flowers. I really can’t imagine you pleasantly smelling fuchsias. So I’ll probably just be holding Guylian’s.

  15. Also, I know you’re not really one to hide away, but do you really think I look like a painted up whore? I went to school today and felt very self conscious. I’ve never had anyone call me anything like that before. It feels very strange.

  16. I live in a dungeon, I don’t travel, and I don’t accept visitors unless they’re holding.

    You don’t look like a painted up whore more than anyone else. Haven’t looked at your picture in months but if it struck a nerve.

    Consider yourself blessed with self-consciousness, it’s a neurosis that can lead to all kinds of interesting shit. Can wind up like me.

    I forgot you were so young. Good to have the symptoms start early rather than later when you’re used to yourself.

  17. I had crunchy nut
    I like crunchy nut,
    crunchy nut tastes good
    was allergic to nuts
    not allergic to nuts
    I like nuts
    I had crunchy nut

    If I compared that to sonnet 14, would it be a propos to the gravitas or would it be uncritically demeaning?

  18. Speaking of crunchy nut, my little poem is faulty. I’m on corticosteroids now, turns out allergies can be triggered several weeks after the problem’s been digested. I love crunchy nut but I cannot have it any more. This also means no more peanut butter. ):

    I didn’t mean to criticise your poem. Well, yes, I did, but just because I give an example, does not mean I am comparing that to that with equal value in mind. If I compare that to that, likely I’m looking at the obvious elements. I know as well as you do which ‘poem’ would be appraised amongst those of an IVY league university.

    You’re the first person ever to call me a whore. Usually, that label is reserved for the chavs and the girls that wear tights with ladders in plus hair extensions that look like hair extensions. I guess there are exceptions to everything.

    Good, I’m glad you forgot that I’m young. Try to let it slim from your mind again. I hate when people remind me of my age. I’ll be fifteen in January, though. Yaaaaaay.

  19. **slip.

  20. So I called a fourteen year old girl a whore.

    It’s an everyday thing. I’m surprised you haven’t heard worse earlier. Reminds me of the trash I’ve lived around for too goddamn long.

    I don’t hold Ivy leagues to any higher respect than I do my state college. Does not matter. Can’t pay money to learn poetry. I neglected going to a much better college I could have gotten into simply because of the rich trash inhabiting it. Higher workload, same work. Does not matter.

    Friend of mine lives in some genuine projects. Not sure if that translates overseas. Public house, some shit like that? He knows shit about art my professors are dumbfounded by. That is the intelligence you cannot buy, rent, or renovate. I shit on high society and the hoops they build for their children.

    That, and the whores who impress everything with a dick would be more repulsive than usual considering their expensive clothes look donated. Likewise, the homosexuals would be spoiled and overly effeminate. One good thing about the south, it keeps up from getting too cocky. Poor or middle class, living in the mountains, half an hour from nowhere but downtown, itself an aging remnant of the fifties, every white girl addicted to hair bleach, every white guy six foot and well versed in how to use firearms, and even then, the few that don’t subscribe to those enticing features subscribe to even worse features, see a hipster for every five squares, a bum for every student, fuck, and with all this cultural indigestion in football country, I prefer it over what my eyes and ears would endure in the presence of people who would make the news if they got kidnapped or stubbed their toe.

    I tell you, if hanging faggots were made legal, things would be a lot more interesting.

  21. I need a drink, I think, so I’m getting one.

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