Victory Dance [Bonus Poem]

Victory Dance

Reward your dog, his crappy blog,
That we may both live high on hog.
I pwned a paper, next I'll vex
The spewers casting advert-hex
Upon us all. They call it news:
I skewer writers set on cruise.
They'll sue my ass, because they lose
Their face when I decide to ooze
My bile. Their egos? Blue. A nasty bruise.
They'll sue my ass. I'll stop. I can't refuse.



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Phailure To Literacify [Today's News Poem, Special Extra, Feb 23, 2010]

Phailure To Literacify [Today's News Poem, Special Extra, Feb 23, 2010]

“The poem crammed in SF Weekly boxes is unambiguously laudatory of Joseph Stack, the anti-government wingnut who allegedly piloted his small plane into an IRS center in Texas, killing a man named Vernon Hunter and injuring more than a dozen others.”
--Joe Eskenazi, SF Weekly

http://blogs.sfweekly.com/thesnitch/2010/02/vile_poetry_hardly_worst_detri.php

“Autobots wage their battle to destroy the evil forces of the Decepticons!”
--The Transformers Theme Song

“Man is a prosthetic God”
--Sigmund Freud, Civilization and its Discontents

"Prosthetic Gods Wage Their Battle"
http://toylit.blogspot.com/2010/02/prosthetic-gods-wage-their-battle.html

It's tragic when a man of print
Requires a helpful, hostile hint;
To steer his eye to what's on page
To rid him of his misplaced rage.

While true I use like avenue
To share my words, I wouldn't spew
My ignorance of Sigmund Freud
Or Transformers—(you know... the droid?)

From boxes shedding porn and scams,
That litter up the bus and trams:
Just fold it right, now sail a fleet
(An unseen one) down Market Street.

How could I ever inflict harm
On foes like you, who self-disarm?
To watch you struggle with the page
Should bring your readers steady rage—

Until they've learned you're just a hack
Who needs to read. A book! You! Crack!



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SF Weekly Throws Mediocre, Illiterate Gauntlet

Just saw it now. So now the clock is ticking and they await my riposte. Mmm, it's like getting a big London Broil, there are so many ways to flame it.

See America's journalists prove they don't know Freud (high culture) OR Transformers (low culture) and watch what happens when they don't bring their A-game to their own newspaper boxes.

Lunge:
http://blogs.sfweekly.com/thesnitch/2010/02/vile_poetry_hardly_worst_detri.php

Riposte coming...



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Cretan Labyrinth [Today's News Poem Part II, or Bonus Poem]

Cretan Labyrinth

A winter sport I'd like to see:
A shooting match, by teams, on ski.
While blood in hockey's sanitized
For sake of replays televised
To save the kids—it's late for that.
So get your club or baseball bat
And fasten skis on both your feet,
And win that gold for U-S-A
By bashing commie fags in fray.
They want their chance to get you too
To own a pair of eyes of blue,
To stain the white of ice with you.
Instead we watch from every pew
And worship those who ought renew
Their lust for war through every sport—
Whose feats on ice inspire our due
And still command our staunch support.
They bait a kindly Minotaur:
Olympics are a proxy-war.



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Whose Achievement? [Today's News Poem]

Whose Achievement? [Today's News Poem, Feb 23, 2010]

http://www.torontosun.com/sports/vancouver2010/photos/2010/02/23/12994746.html

The cult of sports has gilded halls
With records proving human force.
A trophy case upon the wall
Exists in place to name the source

Of greatness, measured carefully.
Such care exceeds esteem for sport—
Athletes more the pull than pulley—
Science needs a thing to sort.



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Mapquest [Bonus News Poem, Feb 22, 2010]

Mapquest [Bonus News Poem, Feb 22, 2010]

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/23/world/middleeast/23mideast.html

The Celts can claim most Western European states.
The Dalai Lama's poor Tibet? A Chinese mine
Or tourist trap. Yes, history is cruel; it waits
Until we scarcely note its passage... then the fine
We pay for loving glory's heirlooms more than life
Around us: humbled by the boat, by cannonade,
By stroke of pen: we vow revenge and make the strife
Of loss the fuel for later win. At first grenade
By Vietcong, then Fedayeen with bombs for coats:
Avenging fighters win because they always dote
Upon dishonors lost in smoke and scorched by flame;
And carry loss and call it win until the fame
Of martyrdom demands a sacrifice
And sends the young ones off to paradise.

One more click earns you all a bonus poem

Thanks for supporting Toylit. I know at this point the promise is idle, but I intend upon spending the income to improve your reading experience.

Expenses:
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So that's where income from this page will go. Thanks for supporting Toylit. Tell your friends, but really, shouldn't your enemies be reading it too?



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Such Wealth Could Fuel an Empire [Today's News Poem, Feb 22, 2010]

Such Wealth Could Fuel an Empire [Today's News Poem, Feb 22, 2010]
“The sea around the Falklands could contain up to 17 billion barrels of oil and 51 trillion cubic feet, or 9 billion barrels of oil equivalent, of gas, according to a report in 2000 by the U.S. Geological Survey. “
-Tom Bergin, Reuters, Mon Feb 22, 2010 12:20pm EST

http://www.reuters.com/article/idUSLDE61L1ZF20100222?type=marketsNews

It's oil! At last the proof that guns
Secured a cash grand-prize in war:
It's evidence might's weighed in tons,
And stifles blame that came before
This boon! Of oil! Not gems or spice,
But still a good as good as gold.
The sale of crude obtains a price
That strengthens Brits a dozen-fold.
Imagine now an Empire's flag
That never felt the setting sun
And financed using tribute's swag—
The Brits might not have been undone
By London, burned to ashen bits.
The oil in former British lands—
It could have funded boom, post-blitz.
A prince could war by carrier,
Could shoot his foes by Harrier:
A Luis Borges blown to bits:
Parade his ear and play the hits
While scions wave by caravan
At crowds, at mom, the royal clan.



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According to web stats, some of you are having trouble finding

... some of the poems you're looking to find. The archives are on the left hand side, below the 'followers' section. Click by date to find that day's News Poem. If you have suggestions on how to make this more user-friendly, please e-mail me and let me know.



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To My Critics [Bonus, Interactive Poem, Feb 21, 2010]

To My Critics
I feel the anger felt by all
But fear it less and hence its thrall
Is lessened. Those who live in fear
Of social mores postpone the dear
For sake of what? Expedience?
The ones who fear experience
But praise its traits in buried folk—
Their praise, their mockery's a joke.
They hold a job, watch music shows,
But can they know achievement's glow?
No risk for values oft invoked;
Results in bloated egos, stoked
By sense of self defied by fact.
The coward pleads her case as tact
And lives a cog possessed by dream
Within the beast that lacks a seam:
It swallows youth and Friday nights.
Cash registers deprive one's rights
As sure as chain once did, but worse:
The mind is held by cash—a curse
That chains the mouth with fear. Resent
My ways. I'm blithe and won't repent.



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One of Us [Today's News Poem, February 21, 2010]

One of Us [Today's News Poem, February 21, 2010]
“At least 40 people have been killed in the floods, and more than 120 others hurt - a "small number" British.“
--BBC, 21:32 GMT, Sunday, 21 February 2010
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/8527446.stm

“The U.S. Office of Refugee Resettlement, which has 700 refugee children in foster care, has asked states to prepare to foster more international refugee children like Majok, whose parents either have disappeared or been killed by war or natural disaster. The need is heightened by continuing armed conflicts in Africa and recent events such as the earthquake in Haiti.”
--Russell Contreras, AP, February 21, 2010, 3:41 p.m
http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/nation/wire/sns-ap-us-refugee-orphans,0,268446.story

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Balloon_boy_hoax

For all the talk of loving fellow humankind,
A hoax balloons when children trap anxiety
We feel as tribal instinct. Cameras, as blind
As us record the sleight of eye society
Maintains is truth. The things we watch are things that count:
An earthquake pricks me less in Haiti—more Malay.
Where coffee's grown, and spice; the scale of death amounts
To higher prices at the store. The kids: away,
By sea--submerged. We grieve as an employer grieves.
The Haitian quake incites the pity workers feel
For beggars. Suffering in them? Let's say it weaves
If only slightly with our vanity's appeal.
To prove that wealth should come to those who spend responsibly:
That any one of us is better: good, demonstrably.


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Revisions of some recent news poems

I revised several recent news poems today. Mostly I just fixed poorly executed, key-lines. Nuke the Stars has the best revision, but the others are pretty good too.



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Prosthetic Gods Wage Their Battle [Today's News Poem, Feb 20, 2010]

Prosthetic Gods Wage Their Battle [Today's News Poem, Feb 20, 2010]
“The family of a longtime Internal Revenue Service employee says he died this week when an pilot harboring a grudge against the tax agency flew his plane into a building. “
--Jim Vertuno, AP, Feb. 20, 2010, 3:59PM ET

http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/metropolitan/6877151.html

Be more than meets the eye and meet that eye
In space, with flocks of people, farms of green.
That blue, with fluid clouds of white in sky
Appears alive: a hive, a huge machine.
Its parts are ignorant and every type
Has faith its form's unique. Conformity?
Coincidence of fate. But still they gripe
And judge the crowd's alike deformity.
The more one seeks to check the mob, the more
The mob puts counter-checks. Antagonize
A man too much and he'll transform and bore
A hole through office walls and agonize
The architects of audits, as a plane.
Soon others—sprouting wheels, adopting lanes—
With superhuman engines spouting gas,
Will crash and crush the source of lights, their mass
Will wreck the Evil Empire's Star of Death:
Alarms, red lights and green. To stop the breath
Of cogs. To end our reign as deities:
And go once more to simpler pieties.



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Last Chance to Buy First Edition Toylit

I am going to withdraw it and subsequent editions from publication in anticipation for the end of Feb edition, which I promise will be worth purchasing on its own merits.

The primary advantage of buying the first edition of Toylit is so that you may own an embodied copy of poetry in process, with partial edits. This is in contrast to purchasing the end of Feb edition, which will be edited to my limit. For those who have seen the revisions of earlier poems posted on Toylit, you can see that a fine final product can come from unauspicious beginnings.

Electronic copies of Toylit are still free, but those too are going to go soon as well as I don't want inferior sketches competing for sales with final products.

Remember that the cheapest way for you to support Toylit is to 'indulge' your curiosity and 'check out' the wares of our sponsors--or to buy the crap you'd ordinarily buy on Amazon through Toylit. Just keep thinking, 'book salesman who recites poetry to close the deal.'

I'm going to be working on edits and today's news poem for the next few hours, so please stay tuned. I also have some other exciting developments for regular readers looking for other 'subaltern' writers.

As a wise junkie said in a weird movie: "Beware! Take care!"



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On the Measure of Human [Today's News Poem, Feb 19, 2010]

On the Measure of Human [Today's News Poem, Feb 19, 2010]
““As you go through a tightening cycle it constricts growth,” said Burt White, chief investment officer at LPL Financial in Boston, which oversees $246 billion. “That impacts future earnings, future profits, future margins. What the market’s doing now is trying to evaluate how quickly and strongly will the tightening be.” The inflation reading “lets the market know the Fed is going to be on the sidelines for a while,” he said.”
Elizabeth Stanton, February 19, 2010, 04:33 PM EST
http://www.businessweek.com/news/2010-02-19/u-s-stocks-retreat-after-federal-reserve-raises-discount-rate.html

We've learned to measure everything worth measuring.
The scholars mapped away the space the clergy ruled;
Now science plays the surrogate in pleasuring
The space we've yet to map: remaining time. Who spooled?
And why divide it so? These questions irk no more:
The map's become the turf. Empiricism's goals:
To chart the void of trends until we mark and score
Familiar parts and know the paths through chaos shoals;
Until at last, we've found the way to quell our fear,
And end surprise. Unknowing, true, of our demise—
Its date, its means, the pain, its meaning... still we're near
The final estimate of lives: how money flies
Determines worth of sun and comets—why not kids?
A lien on life to make them work and when it's rid
Emancipated: free—a bit. A final fee
That's used to pick the human from the worker bees.



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The Hypocrite Twin [Bonus Poem]

The Hypocrite Twin
“—Hypocrite lecteur,—mon semblable,—mon frère!”
--Charles Baudelaire, Au Lecteur

In war, the image graved upon the face of foes
Is long remembered, after he's been slain...
Or she, just think of Chechen widows at that show
In Russia: gas-rebuttals to their pain.
I know enough to know that Hitler liked to rant
And own a room with arms and twitchy hands.
The purse of shouting maws—the same as his I'll grant—
On television: fake-debates with canned
Positions; canned, synthetic talking points
Preserved in fat—in sweat that still anoints
Some man of God and nation—holy—though his eyes
Belie a hungering for flesh. His guise?
A cannibal ex-general who lies
To so-called country-kin
And never cops to spin.
Enemies: they always win.



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What Was the Question? [Today's News Poem, Feb 18, 2010]

What Was the Question? [Today's News Poem, Feb 18, 2010]
"Violence not only is the answer, it is the only answer,"
--Andrew Joseph Stack

“Officials labeled the crash a criminal, not terrorist, attack. 'I consider this a criminal act by a lone individual,' said Police Chief Art Acevedo... The Web site was taken down on Thursday afternoon after a request from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, according to the president of the Web-hosting service.“

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748703315004575073401102945506.html?mod=WSJ_hpp_MIDDLETopStories

The word was set by ancient scribes
In ledgers. Debt and credit tabs
Of clay permitted first some bribes—
With theft of state soon up for grabs.
A king would come with debt relief
Elites would take an oath and fief.
But justice always falls to greed
Usurper kings forget to heed
The history of whom they freed.
The only answer never needs
A question asked. It's not a deed;
It's more a way of life to bleed
The ones who claim we're chattel
To milk and herd like cattle.
The ones who tell us they are you;
That you (and I) are nothing new—
Are nothing more than cells—
Are patriotic shells.
The 'self' is just a spell
The liars like to tell.
We beat the German Reich,
But still we look alike:
They killed for Russian oil—
This shit just never spoils.
Just pay your tax, just shut your fucking lips.
They kill in sips until they drop the axe.



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Sorry for the tardy news poem, I'm starting it right now

I only have one more upcoming interruption and then I'll see if I can write two. I really appreciate how many of you checked in twice today and I promise to make your third visit worthwhile (I guess fourth if you returned to read this).



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Today's News Poem: All Three Parts in One Post 2.17.10

At Home, in Room 101: A Poem in Three Acts [Today's News Poem, Feb 17, 2010]

“President Obama defended his year-old economic recovery package on Wednesday, arguing that the package, the major legislative achievement of his presidency so far, has created or saved as many as two million new jobs, lowered taxes for 95 percent of Americans and spared the country a potentially disastrous depression.”
–Sheryl Gay Stolberg
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/18/us/politics/18obama.html

“Other officials, however, appeared worried that dumping mortgage debt into a fragile market might drive up home loan rates, compromising what tentative stabilization has been achieved in housing... Still, there was active discussion on the principle behind it -- that the time might be nearing for a pullback. ”
--Reuters, Feb 17, 2010; 2:39pm ET
http://www.nytimes.com/reuters/2010/02/17/business/business-us-usa-fed-minutes.html

“Treasurys also saw losses accelerate after minutes from the Federal Reserve's last meeting on monetary policy revealed several members wanted the Fed to sell assets in the near future. ”
--Nick Godt, Marketwatch, Feb 17, 2010
http://www.marketwatch.com/story/treasurys-drop-after-data-greek-debt-woes-ease-2010-02-17

I)
On live teevee I saw the Head of State
Ascend. The Chairman also lifted off;
They hovered. Doubting what I saw, the late
Or later show at first provoked a scoff;
But moved to tears I saw the clips once more
Online and cursed again my skeptical,
And anti-patriotic—lonely—core.
I'll be a media receptacle
Forever, once I learn to see
What others see on live teevee.

II)
Corruption gnawed my soul; my Lord defragged it clear.
Regrets for past procrastinations wracked my thoughts;
My Lord deleted dreadful files: magnetic cheer!
The now's a one and history's a simple ought.
My Lord, this prayer, I offer lovingly to you:
Please grant us cancer drugs our doctors brew from yew—
Expunge from files all trace of morning air and dew—
May every day become the same and never new.

III)
This gnome, this alter-ego lied.
The misdirection stood as proof
My quest to find a way inside
The tower: not some holy goof.

I told him, “Fuck your lying speech
Your Gods are stones—let's break some now.
There. See how nihilism's reach
Is always short of sacred cows

That you preserve?” He's there today
Repairing that which never worked.
The other self arrived to pray
Before a god he never shirked.

Though sky within and sky without;
Within its ribs, its godly shell—
The dream of truth can't live—I shout:
“Nothing's nothing. Nothing's in hell!”



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Today's News Poem: Part III

This gnome, this alter-ego lied.
The misdirection stood as proof
My quest to find a way inside
The tower: not some holy goof.

I told him, “Fuck your lying speech
Your Gods are stones—let's break some now.
There. See how nihilism's reach
Is always short of sacred cows

That you preserve?” He's there today
Repairing that which never worked.
The other self arrived to pray
Before a god he never shirked.

Though sky within and sky without;
Within its ribs, its godly shell—
The dream of truth can't live—I shout:
“Nothing's nothing. Nothing's in hell!”



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Today's News Poem: Part II

Corruption gnawed my soul; my Lord defragged it clear.
Regrets for past procrastinations wracked my thoughts;
My Lord deleted dreadful files: magnetic cheer!
The now's a one and history's a simple ought.
My Lord, this prayer, I offer lovingly to you:
Please grant us cancer drugs our doctors brew from yew—
Expunge from files all trace of morning air and dew—
May every day become the same and never new.



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At Home, in Room 101 [Today's News Poem, Feb 17, 2010]

At Home, in Room 101 [Today's News Poem, Feb 17, 2010]

“President Obama defended his year-old economic recovery package on Wednesday, arguing that the package, the major legislative achievement of his presidency so far, has created or saved as many as two million new jobs, lowered taxes for 95 percent of Americans and spared the country a potentially disastrous depression.”
–Sheryl Gay Stolberg
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/18/us/politics/18obama.html

“Other officials, however, appeared worried that dumping mortgage debt into a fragile market might drive up home loan rates, compromising what tentative stabilization has been achieved in housing... Still, there was active discussion on the principle behind it -- that the time might be nearing for a pullback. ”
--Reuters, Feb 17, 2010; 2:39pm ET
http://www.nytimes.com/reuters/2010/02/17/business/business-us-usa-fed-minutes.html

“Treasurys also saw losses accelerate after minutes from the Federal Reserve's last meeting on monetary policy revealed several members wanted the Fed to sell assets in the near future. ”
--Nick Godt, Marketwatch, Feb 17, 2010
http://www.marketwatch.com/story/treasurys-drop-after-data-greek-debt-woes-ease-2010-02-17

On live teevee I saw the Head of State
Ascend. The Chairman also lifted off;
They hovered. Doubting what I saw, the late
Or later show at first provoked a scoff;
But moved to tears I saw the clips once more
Online and cursed again my skeptical,
And anti-patriotic—lonely—core.
I'll be a media receptacle
Forever, once I learn to see
What others see on live teevee.



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Heads Up: Two Part News Poem Today.

I'll probably write and finish part two by 8pm PST, but maybe sooner.



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War Correspondent In a Junkyard [Poem]

War Correspondent In a Junkyard
 http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/8519354.stm


The vet with reddish laser-eyes
Possessed a sign: “Will kill for fuel.”
A tragic end for flying spies
And rifle-bots we don't retool.
I asked the bots about the war.
The Predator? Its circuits smoked—
His pal explained his hardware core
Just broke, his combat role revoked.
The Talon spoke in monotone,
It whirred; it said that war was great—
It knew in war that one must hone
The soldiers pliant, not with hate
Or love—just routine death and gore.
And now we mostly can't stand war,
But bots enjoy what we abhor.


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One more click and I'll do a bonus news poem tonight

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And Then They'll Nuke the Stars [Today's News Poem, Feb 16, 2010]

And Then They'll Nuke the Stars [Today's News Poem, Feb 16, 2010]

“Adm. Mike Mullen, chairman of the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff, said a military strike to arrest Iran's nuclear progress remains an option but that the United States prefers to see doubts about Iran's intentions resolved through diplomacy. ”
--By ROBERT BURNS (AP) – 1 hour ago
http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5jZl0ZHDPBByIKpxXAI3NcI39Wb8QD9DTENMO0



In space someday a child will play
With micro-nukes: she'll waste her toys,
Her nanite town of buckyballs.
The goddess scorns the dots that pray
She'll spare their lives—she looks for boys;
Forgets the pain of beings as small
To ants, as ants to us.
They die, she makes no fuss.




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