Tag: non sequitur

Pretzels and Applesauce

All right class, let me just jot some things down on the chalkboard here…

What am I hoping to achieve through the the synthesis of words in this particular manner? It would appear as though I’m looking for the special key that was crafted for the sole purpose of conveying the cosmic Truth as I see it. The nice thing about this hypothetical key is the almost-negligible cost to gain access to whatever happens to lie behind the lock–that is to say, the lack of necessity for lavish expenditures in order to reach the same island of internal artistic fulfillment as anyone else who’s choosing to express themselves on this particular plane. That’s not to say that this medium of words on a page or board is inherently superior to any other form of creative expression, it’s just obviously much cheaper (which appeals to my frugal sensibilities).

Now! Who’s ready to start learning the alphabet?

Oh come on, nobody’s excited about exploring the 26 letters of our language? When I was your age, I already knew what a silent E was. Trust me, you’re going to want to know these principles as you get bigger and need to concisely present your thoughts to the world around you.

Okay, okay. I can see that I’ve lost you guys. That’s okay; I’ve been teaching kindergarten for 25 years, and this is par for the course. I think you all have definitely earned your snack and nap through how attentive you’re being today, so good for you! Now remind me, who among you are vegetarian/vegan/lactose intolerant? Anybody know? Okay, pretzels and applesauce for everyone! Yippee!!

Telekinetics

The future of telekinetics goes as follows:

Gene Squadron Trowel-Resistant
Pantaloons

Jungle Drapes, Inc.
[A Subsidiary of Jaunty
Enterprises]

Tom Cat Harry and his Grumpy
Shenanigans
[That Silly Old Boy,
He Really Should Be
Put Down]

But Aren’t You a Bob
Marley Impersonator?

Yesterday, 12,000 bees or so
decided to, uh, there’s
no other way to put it, swarm
on my succulent ‘do.
°Nothin’ I could ‘do.®

°Intellectual Property of
The Gideon Partners
[In Perpetuity]

Bridge – 13:19GMT

Where did our sense of longing go off to, anyway? I could have sworn there was more to this bridge than the water below and the people on top, but I can’t seem to find any examples of anything other than structural soundness.

Come on, I’m tired. Do you have any idea how much energy I expend just from trying to suppress panic attacks on a regular basis?

It’s somewhat unnerving to think that a troll could come up and overtake any and all of us for the sole purpose of being scary. We wouldn’t learn anything new, we wouldn’t even make any friends in the process. We would just be scared into abandoning our cups of coffee and kicking our way through the hospital doors in a fit of hysteria, unable to be calmed by anybody, save our biological parents–possibly aunts and uncles.

Do you even have aunts and uncles, my most highly-exalted overlords? Or did evolution do away with the necessity for tribalism?

Peace in a toboggan tobacco chewer is all I want to ask for these days, but I can’t quite come to negotiate in the right manner anymore. I don’t know if I’m getting rusty or if I’m just tired right now, but I’m definitely sick of not knowing how to proceed. After all that worrying, don’t you think we could afford a little sit-down in the park, feeding the ducks that waddle by?

I miss being able to do those things. Do you guys ever feed the ducks?
I really wish I could use my arms.

Insomuch – 18:18GMT

We take with us all matter of things, insomuch as it stands to be ever an incher of pincher cinchers, where schnitzel bricks spend all-day expeditions of exquisite daydream clamfaces–by the cola machine is where our lord takes his things. Bitter nut jobs make extraordinary leaps through our galaxy, but never when you have an economy rooted in capitalism, that dollar ever-chained to something way older than our collective responsibilities and squared up to a door we must have forgotten like a stamp mailed on a letter to the dentist some Tuesday back in December when the weather was much nicer but the days were much shorter and you sure as hell don’t miss that one bit, as goddamn cold as it may be right now, god dammit. I really wish I could use my arms.

Check Check, Test Test

Wow, this recent sequence of events is quite a roller coaster ride of rediscovery and contemplation as an artist. All those times–hundreds–that I doubted why I was putting in the time, I was incapable of seeing the bigger picture. And now that I’ve glimpsed a larger scheme of things, I can also understand that I’ll never see the entire picture. My senses limit that panoply.

But that’s okay! I can make do with what I’ve got, and make it as colorful as possible.

My Straitjacket series, as you may have noticed, is the driving force behind this particular reinvigoration.

I’m going to post dozens of these Straitjacket poems, all named a particular time of day, Greenwich Mean Time. There are 1,440 possible titles for this series, if you consider the different combinations of digits that represent particular periods in time (however ambiguous).

The older me would have let that overwhelm him, likely thinking about that 1,440 number as a challenge to WRITE 1,440 POEMS FOR THE SERIES. Anything less would have been a letdown.

Fortunately, my thought processes are much healthier these days, and I’m just taking it one poem at a time.

The speaker in these poems is… a man in a straitjacket. He’s in a rubber room, doesn’t know how he got there. Time is static in this environment, and sensory deprivation is opening up new ways of thought for him. As time progresses, he becomes more and more comfortable with his purest expressions, abandoning the inner critic that always told him he wasn’t good enough, and that he’d just end up selling used cars out of an auto mechanic’s garage (well, not exactly in the garage–it’s out back, Gus owns the adjacent lot and decided one day to supplement his income by buying fixer-uppers and flipping them for tidy profits).

Taking the idea of audience out of the equation for the speaker is sublime and freeing, I can do whatever I want with words under the umbrella of absurdity and non-sequitur, legitimized through a unified theme.

So I reckon that’s about it for now. Just wanted to check in, let you know that I’m happily creating. Perhaps, in the near future, an upgrade will come my way. Some kind of monetization. Perchance a book or booksss? That’s my hope, eh? Just need to figure out how to self-publish printed materials and reach the widest possible audience.

Cheers, mates!

-Aidan

Indiscriminate Minds – 06:37GMT

Indiscriminate minds
mold old pita bread
while extolling the intricacies
depicted in The Lorax–
just as a matter of fact.

No time like the present–built into
the inscrutable molting pattern–
for a splash in the unsalvageable
concrete turnstile lifestyle,
no matter what our compatriots
might mouth in opposition.

Hell, you could go for a while
without betraying anybody’s trust,
and wouldn’t that just be neat?
That would mean that you’d deserve
to be on your best friend’s right shoulder
while he reads his vows
on a sacred summer afternoon.

Indiscriminate minds
hold old cheetah breath
in the highest of all esteem–
and esteem-related sincerity–
while plunging obliquely
through the ever-stacked ideology
touted as ne’er-do-well yodeling.

I really wish they’d loosen this jacket,
whoever they are. It’s cutting off circulation.

Factory

Tenderer than the tiniest tangerine and more available than bargain basement fried rice, one can only surmise that the weight of this whole Edgar-spinning habañero factory would equal that of a mid-grade mouse (at least after said mouse has purged itself of the latest fad diet food). If that’s not the case, then the sabotage worked its wonders once again (God bless us all) and our strange liquidation may have been for naught. But let’s not think about such treachery at this moment–heaven will be waiting for us upon the cessation of our final scruples. I’m telling you, this must be true. Why else would I even bother placating you? Death amounts to the complete reversal of mortal avarice, I’ve been told. By a reliable source, mind you. Now, I can’t go around blabbing about the destinations of our celestial bodies and not buy you a drink. That would be a crime. Manhattan for you? Never had one?! This will be interesting.