I was never a big fan of poetry. I liked the idea of poetry, especially when put in the charming voice of that mythical Barrister Mr, Rumpole of the old Bailey (and if you don't know what I am talking about you are too young.)
Beat poetry and the whole 'spoken word' tickled me for a bit, but even that was not really a case of falling head over heels. And of course Shakespeare has a couple of sonnets that are nothing less than sublime. But other than that? I have the same take-it-or-leave-it attitude about poetry as most people. I do like to quote poetry on occasion. It makes one look sophisticated, smart and educated. (Almost as writing sentences that use 'one' as a oh-so-British 'me'.)
I have absolutely no idea why I started writing poetry last year. Why the moment of clarity and revelation I had after being sufficiently disgusted from the business world and modern society at large, manifested itself in written words, and of all things, in rhymes."where rains would never/ wash the cleverrhyme and punctuation / marksthe poodle's barkfrom handbag gold / his air-conditionedsoul grows cold"
When my eyes finally opened , and I was awakened from this dream we are all being fed by the bucketful, there was a lot of anger to be let out, a lot of steam. It is said that most men live lives of quiet desperation. It is true. Most of them are not aware of it, but it is true. And that creates frustration, which creates friction, which creates heat which creates steam, that has to be let out. It's not psychology, its basic physics.
Anger that was directed at people who do enormous damage without scruples and sign of humanity, and to some extent anger against the huddling masses that allow them to do that, those junkies who sold their soul for a new i-phone and burnt on their flag the slogan "yes, but"
"You are dead, it's okaydon't you lose any sleepyou can still go to workyour position to keepYou can still go shoppingfill your cart to the rimor just click on the buttonto get every whim
of your hopeless desireof your thirst for it allfor the things you don't know yetthat you want from this mallof heavenly paradisewhich belongs just to youyou deserve everythingand you don't have a clue "
Anger is not a bad thing. I have said it once I will say it again, I have written half a dozen poems saying it over and over again. And again. Fuck acceptance. I CHOOSE what I accept and some things I just can't accept, at least not without throwing up. I have noticed through the years that the people who say "don't be so judgmental" are the people who are afraid to be judged. What a bunch of cowards. That is a great way to lower the bar. We can either improve ourselves or say hey, that's me, I am a lazy coward. Well, that just doesn't sit well with me. I am willing to be judged. Judge me. Confront me. My ideas, my beliefs. My convictions. Make my day, punk."This anger but a tool of mineto clean this wretched messI use it with a heavy heartI hate it but I blessthe power it has given meto stand and be as tallas truth itself in darkness nowuntil I see you fall"Someone told me a lot of my poems are preachy. So? Am I supposed to apologize for that?If a Nazi pope who protects r apists with one hand while robbing the poor with the other can be preachy, and I have to accept his vile existence, I think it earns me a right to be preachy too.
If a rabbi who puts himself as leader of man by birth or even just buying the right kind of hat ,promotes racism , hatred and ignorance expects me to pay for his prayers, and I refrain from kicking him out of the temple as dear old Jesus would have done, telling him he is nothing but a sad joke and an insult to religions worldwide, I think it earns me a right to be preachy too.
If a senator preaches old strict traditional family values while his member of parliament being sucked by his young male assistant and he is not burnt on the stake by his voters, I think that earns me the right to be preachy too.
If businessmen and scholars preach for a free market, when it is them who expect to get things for free from me and you, and I don't spit in their suited serpent faces, I think that earns me the right to be preachy.
I promise I would stop "preaching" . really. The minute I find somebody else who will do it, someone you would actually listen to, I would stop. Until then I just have to keep on trying. Maybe someone will hear. Maybe even listen.Until then?
For every false messiah out there I will publish one more book as counteraction. For every hypocrite who preaches but never practices, I will write one more poem. For every promotion and every sale that distances you from your real wants and needs, I will add another verse. For every businessman who in his sickening greed steps on us just to add some more zeros to his bank account, I will draw my pen and sharpen another rhyme.For every person who refuses to see, refuses to let go of the illusion that is injected into his veins by the media, the society, the "market", I will poke you with a witty word, a violent vowl, a poem, words. My words."My words they do not mean a thingjust air and spit and sounddon't listen to the things I saythey will just cause you more dismayif you don't step out of the waythey'll knock you to the ground."
I will stop writing when you are cured. When the world is a better place, when you make an effort to make it a better place. When the race will be the human race again. When you will wake up.It's up to you. Please help me stop writing.I am so tired.tired of writing.tired of waiting.
"A flower in the dirtcan make you smilelike endless sunshineof a measured mile
Behold the tripwe took beforeoh mother nature'sbeaten whore
A smile can seema wonder smallThat's all you haveso fuck 'em all "for the full site with over 50 video readings : /poetry
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