Okay, cats and kittens, I know I've been MIA for a while. Trying to get things back into shape and whatnot... Man, those personal issues are a total bitch, ain't they?
But, I'll not let them drag me down anymore. You guys depend on me on like a fish needs water, and I'm the most important person in the world right now, I know (I just love these anti-depressants, they're so empowering
), but on to more important matters.
Okay, seriously, though, I've gotten our first admin volunteer. Let's give a big round of applause and an espresso to
for stepping up to lend a hand, despite his own undisclosed personal crises. From now on, we'll be referring to Toby as Manservant Hecubus, and I expect you all to show him the same disre-, er, respect you almost show me. Thanks, Toby, and welcome aboard!
And let's also give a big Underground welcome to our newest member,
Welcome to the club!
Now, then, on to the other stuff you've maybe been wondering about. No, I didn't worry about the ten themes thingy for March. I didn't do them, either, having dealt with other issues which sucked up a lot of my time and energy, so we'll chalk that one up to experience. And I'm not going to be featuring a poet of the month for May, since it's already well into the month, and the shorter time would be really unfair to the poet. But, we WILL be picking it back up in June, so keep an eye out for that.
Also, in order to further the Underground's goal of total world domination through the literary arts, I would like to encourage each of you to check out Read This Magazine
. One of the editors is dA's own
, and they're looking for submissions. So, obviously, if you guys have a few minutes to spare, submit your best work. Even if you're not accepted, they'll still read your work, and offer pointers on how to improve your writing, and you can't go wrong there. And besides, they could always say "Accepted!" But you won't know until you try, will you?
I know you guys have it in you to shine, so start shining, dammit!
Now, for May's writing assignment, I'll set the tone a little darker. I could say, write me your best example of being broken-hearted and let down hard, but emo poetry is so last February. So, instead, what say we let the djinni out of the bottle and release all the REAL hurt we've repressed after a harsh breakup? We don't need all that negative energy inside us, do we, so give me your best, bile-laden, "what the hell is HIS/HER damage, anyway?", you totally didn't deserve this treatment poetry. Let 'er rip, kids.
Oh, and, for an extra credit assignment, I've got a REAL challenge for you. You're going to start a fight with a total stranger- Oops, sorry, went into Fight Club mode for a sec. No, here's what I want you to do:
If you can, find yourselves a poetry night somewhere close to you. Go to said poetry night and participate, which means actually reading your work to the crowd, and bring a friend along to videotape you in action. Post the vid on youtube or wherever. We need to get to know each other here, and what better way than starting to put faces to usernames, eh?
Like I said, though, it's extra credit. I know how time (or lack thereof) and other things can interfere with that.
Okay, well, I can't think of anything else for now, so it looks like it's time to say:
Peace and bottle of hair grease!
Some sweet shtuff to get you up, in the literary sense:
More Light Than Death Could Bear by our own Hind Shoufani (
Book of Blues by Jack Kerouac
Howl by Allen Ginsberg
A Season in Hell by Arthur Rimbaud
Wilderness and The American Night by Jim Morrison
Tarantula by Bob Dylan
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
Aloud: Voices from the Nuyorican Poets Cafe
Music that will (hopefully) inspire you:
The Beatles-Sgt Pepper's
Bob Dylan- Bringin' It All Back Home
The Doors-An American Prayer
Cowboy Bebop OST
Bob Dylan-Blood on the Tracks
Super Mario Galaxy OST
Ludwig van Beethoven-9th Symphony
Miles Davis-Kind of Blue
Poet of the Month
Blurb-o-phone: I reside in picturesque central New York, currently suffering from a rare bout of sunshine, where I devote my life to smashing the state and bringing down civilization. Dumpster diving is one of my more favorite activities, but I write, I draw, I sew, I throw things, I yell, I Food Not Bomb, I get extra-relationship booty, huzzah. Right now I'm gearing up for anniversary of the war celebrations and planning for the Bash Back consulta upcoming in Chicago (that's the queer/trans convergence to plan for the DNC/RNC protests). I also work with the Prisoner Express program in Ithaca (shameless plug! prisonerexpress.deviantart.com).
Life plans? Working Renassaince Faire this summer, heading to the Twin Cities in mid-August to fuck shit up in the RNC, sticking around there for a couple months to fix some shit up as well. Then, traveling the country (on and off the Faire circuit) with a puppy, a yurt, and a Baby Face.
And to answer somebody's prying question, no, I change my underpants only every so often, because They kick you out of Club (A)narchy if you bathe. And milk is for pudding.
Brain in pulsing theta
and his eyes half slit
ostentatious lips and kitten-scritch cornrows.
He leans back slow
against the wall
smoking nostrils and smoky eyes.
Hands with palms of well worn leather,
hands tracing "come here" in the sky
which floats gently
gently between us.
Deep set in brandy-sparkling skin, his
pupils dilate with each undulating thought
spinning, throbbing, drifting
from his theta-wave eyes.
cast soft moonshine over
Broken beams spill like milk
over my fingers,
caught in his diamond-sharpened teeth.
My chapped bottom lip
--cracked and bleeding slowly--
twists against my L21
his long slow strong arms
pounce and pin and drive
fingernails through shoulder blades
attaching the floor to my flaring S-curved spine
with glinting grinning eyes.
on his bare shoulders
he leans back slow
beckoning with crooked smile
and theta-blossom eyes.
Scream with all the furied determination
of someone else's horses
who run rampaging,
racetracks through the bloodstream
and a stable in the heart.
when you feel their blood
beading at the cut
on the side of your hand.
Scream like a songbird
on March twenty-third,
just as the day reaches out
and brushes, with snow-blued finger tips,
where you scream
to welcome the
impending explosions of the mind.
Sky Merman Superfreek-
Sky Merman Superfreek
This strange being walks through the abandoned streets of suburbia,
walks with sky mermaid hair matching the
anime raccoon eyes, matching the
coal heart hiding
a rainbow soul to match.
Loose-hipped and tight-lipped,
walking down a suburban road.
I live in a ghost town.
I walked along the empty asphalt paths
where shiny insect-backed cars
tight sealed houses
and piles of cigarette butts ten feet high
glare at me and my intrusion.
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Flounder, er, FOUNDER and Godhead
Any other takers?