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brittle light's blog

A Profile Of My Criminal History

"you lookin' so fine today," I said
as she sashayed passed me on 42 street

That got me sent up river for my first stint in the big house,
stuck with a bunch of ugly thugs
who happened to appreciate beauty the same way I did.
All I choose to remember is passing around an old calendar
with Bettie Page pics as a surrogate fix.
For what is life without beauty?

The Poet And The Apocalypse

if some form of an apocalypse ever happens
I'm going to be so screwed
I think this is how it would go:

with a bit of luck,
maybe, just maybe
as I drift from nowhere to another nowhere
I'll come across a commune
with gardens and fire, and maybe a typewriter

(many, many moons later)

Yes!, Oh my god, there it is. I've found one at last.
a quaint high gated community,
well, more of a compound with
watch towers and razor wire
but hey! as they say, 'any port in a storm'

My Collection Of Haiku (from older posts)

a moment captured
in gentle eloquence
the poet smiles

ah ha! says the monk
the poet bows gracefully
hiding a sly smile

birds sing, children play
a monk does chores in silence
what does he not know

"sweet dreams" she purrs
I roll over and tremble
thoughts of losing her

dime store lovers
a bin of trinkets
gifts to be treasured

even in unveiled sadness
her beauty incites tears
I cry twice

a confirmed recluse
his own shadow annoys him
tooooooo louddddd

Pouting Poets

contrary to common belief
poets are not
sad overly sensitive high strung creatures,
but rather quite hard, and raw, and real

facing head on:

the pitiful
the loathsome
the wicked
the sordid
as well as the
the exquisite
the inexplicable
and phantasmagoric

tough guys, (and the broads too)
taking heat
for opinions
anathema to
any and all
prevailing tides

Kerouac, Bukowski
Whitman, or Tapper.
they ain't no push-overs,

Pre & Post

An open field,
a young boy's joy:
chasing fly balls and frisbees,
stumbling in the grass,
carefree as a warm summer breeze.

I remember;
...before girls stole the spotlight.

The psychological shift from obliviousness
to excruciating self awareness
was as sudden as a slap in the face.

Wow! was I a mess!

I couldn't stop thinking about the girls
The cute ones, the pretty ones, the beautiful, and gorgeous ones,
all giggly and wiggly, and the boobs! My god, why was I such a mess.

Chew On This (It's An Acquired Taste)

the world is biology
anything else is delusion

think about it
actually think, for real

don't be afraid

you are biologically, a "thinker"
and all thought stems from said biology

the world is made from thought;
biology becomes the world

(Oh!, and by the way, even delusion is biologic)

Bad Ideas

I don't mind bad ideas.
There are, potentially, an infinite number of them.
I know, I generate them by the truckload,
but most are thrown back into the ethos, or wherever they go.

The problem lies with the people who latch on to them,
then play them out.

This is where they can hurt

An idea itself is not harmful.

I can know about communism, and not behave as a communist.
I can know about religion, and not be religious.
I can know a tomato is a fruit, but not put it in a fruit salad.

Stalwart Character

I believe people can change,
they just don't.

I haven't,
not in any way that really matters
to anyone,
or the world.

That goes for most,
and is a good thing.

We all can be picked apart for our quirks
and perceived flaws without too much damage,
but pulling the wrong thread
can lead to unintended consequences;

an unraveling of self.

Who's Callin' Who Out


                                                            say what?

                                                        I can't hear you

                                                    lil' dude, I don't read lips

                                               come on, spit it out mealy mouth

                                           wanna start raggin' on me?,  do ya, huh?

                                                you're about to piss me off, boy


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