(Not really but kinda... hopefully anyone reading will figure this out as it goes along.)
Oh man, not another Lyekka post. Yes, i'm here with something that almost doesn't fit the poetry section because it's way out there and just as many people will read this in secret as post and add to the fun. Cause abstract writing is like that sometimes.
This may serve as warm up for some people and a place to post the best work for others. The rules are few and that's always a little more fun.
This will work around a structure similar to the chain stories that flood this guild. There's no wrong way to add to this beast. Let it be known. Just make sure not to write like you talk or use standard writing techniques. This is a place for plagiarism. By plagiarism i refer to the cut and paste methods explored by William S. Burroughs and Bryon Gysin. This means your allowed to steal from anyone else's work and add it to a collage piece of your own construction.
This is a place for abstract metaphor. Any kind you can dream up. Hopefully by making this insane enough. Everyone will have a good time and really experiment with different techniques. Rewrite someone else's lines in your own restyling. This is first and for most about having fun.
What i've thrown together to start this off is mixing many different writers from different times and places. This little beginning of the going anywhere and doing anything story is using the following list of original gangsters:
-Abraham Lincoln
-Beck
-Charles Bukowski
-Kool Keith (under his Dr. Octogon moniker)
-and "the little train that could" efforts of little old me
It's not, by far, the best abstract piece. My logic is that this will become addictive to those who find it challenging to have their own signature technique. No matter how little anything actually makes sense or how rough draft you feel your output may be. Just post it and feel good about contributing.
Mix lawn mower instruction manual sentences with Shakespear. Mix an entry from "Go Ask Alice" into that one totally lame love note you got from the creepy kid that sat 2 desks away from you in middle school. No holds barred in this mental ward. If you think that passages from the Bible and a Hunter S. Thompson rant mix well. While your listening to Michael Jackson's Thriller and it feels like soul lyrics set to a funky soundtrack...... thumbs up, do it.
now to see where this goes.... here goes the cut and paste... helmets and safety glasses people.... FIRE IN THE HOLE!
question pirate ninja 3nodding
STOP MAKING SENSE
Four score and seven years ago, in the time of chimpanzees, i was a monkey. I come prepared with the white suit and stethascope Listen to your heartbeat, delete beep beep beep Your insurance is high, but my price is cheap
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure.
[The psychiatrist is wearing a long white doctor's trench. But there is a bracelet on her wrist. The same one would find on any patient in the ward. Thick black horn rimmed glasses give the appearance of little devil horns. About five and a half feet tall and strangely boney thin. Her silky straight black hair is long and braided on either side of her head to almost perfectly resemble the fatty folds of exposed brain lobes. With a scent that slightly resembled embalming fluid mixed with bitter perfume. The pale skin of an albino and the sharpened smile of revenge pulled tight across her face. She hugs her clipboard like a new born. Taking great pleasure in the issuing of her appraisal.]
"you're a screwed-up Romantic, she said,
you read all the old philosophers and you
listen to Wagner and Mahler and you think
the ancient Chinese poets were hot s**t, yet
you're depraved, you're at the racetrack
every day and you know that's sick, and
all that wine you drink, it's eating
your brain away, and when you get drunk
you talk about what a great fighter you
used to be, even though you admit you
took more beatings than you gave.
you dislike people and love animals."
But, in a larger sense, someone keeps saying I'm insane to complain about a shotgun wedding and a stain on my shirt. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. Supersonic waves combine and burn as brainwaves, I see the mascot of evil he's not Kneivel, Shakespeare's gone don't even think about it, Yes, as I'm going to the park, I see... you get a parking violation and a maggot on your sleeve, So shave your face with some mace in the dark, Savin' all your food stamps and burning down the trailer park
Yo... cut it
*(The DJ is Carlos the Alpaca who scratch cut's and back peddles two copies of a car's breaks screeching into a massive collision.)
"I really don't know what the hell you're
all about- you just grab at things, you rely
solely on instinct and your prejudices
and sometimes I think you're retarded.
it was your childhood, you didn't get any
love so it's hard for you to give any,
you just get drunk and call every woman a
whore."
Your brains went black
When she took back her love
And put it out into the sun
The birds did fly
When the heavens all went dry
And the cigarettes were smoking by themselves
-- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion --
Everything after that is a blur. i remember two other patients attacked an Orderly with some kind of sharpened home made weapons. Small enough to fit in their hands and hidden until his back was to them. They appeared sedated one second and then every member of the staff thug team descended like a prevented touchdown or young children wrestle piling on the playground. i didn't see the stabbing but i heard the blood curdling scream.
Then suddenly i wanted to piss myself in fear but i didn't have the pee. Everyone was distracted and the exit doors were held open by an accidental door stopper flipping down. i'm in a mental ward in a makeshift Rouge outfit complete with white bangs standing out from my long light brown hair parted down the middle.
Even in my hospital gown and blue paper slippers. i feel like a super hero. i'm paralyzed by fear but at the same time i'm running faster than i've ever ran. Knocking open the second set of doors and revealing a sunlight i've never been more enveloped by. It was a dreary day inside their somehow. But out on the pavement of the half circle drive around it is a fall dream. What my mother use to call an "Indian Summer".
How can i be half way across the front ward lawn. A good 40 feet and counting. No one yelling and no one running after me. The adrenalin high is so overwhelming. Couldn't stop running if i wanted to.
There's barely any traffic when i cross the first street to the park. i see a cop riding a horse casually about 50 yards away and all i can think about is assaulting him. If i get his weapon or maybe just the horse. i'll feel so much safer. To just ride till i get out of the downtown area code. To get a minute to think about civilian clothes and a place to hide out. To just take a minute to reflect on all that has passed. That horse is mine and that police officer is in the way of my rendezvous. But what can i assault him with? a rock?
