Colony of Statues [News Poem by Khakjaan Wessington, March 9, 2012]

Colony of Statues [News Poem by Khakjaan Wessington, March 9, 2012]

Think us a colony—penguins or pinnipeds—

Only we're grizzlies that line up by riverside

Polishing pebbles, or carving them... bashing them

Eager for logos: the pith Michelangelo

Sought in the marble; the flavor pre-Pantheon

Children contained and their father contained—and if

He had a father, then surely the mythos is

Wrong: we're degenerates, castoffs, inferior—

Smaller than granules and less than the ancestors—

Even the best of all human-kinds possible

Cannot converge with the grace of all origin.

Somehow in sight of ourselves we've become what we

See and in sight of ourselves we converge with the

Best of the origin, best of all possible

Ancestors, righteousness, mothers, containers for

Atheist statues resembling epiphany,

Carvings of planets—we've colonized earth.

“A Sunnyvale woman who told a neighbor she felt overwhelmed by caring for her adult autistic son shot him to death before turning her gun on herself, authorities said Wednesday. Elizabeth Hodgins, 53, shot her son, George Hodgins, 22, on Tuesday in a bedroom of their home on the 800 block of Nectarine Avenue, according to police and neighbors.”

—Will Kane,Demian Bulwa; San Francisco Chronicle, Thursday, March 8, 2012

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2012/03/07/BAVR1NH8B4.DTL

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Water Or Blood? [Today's News Poem, March 2, 2012]

Water Or Blood? [Today's News Poem, March 2, 2012]

Blizzards reversed the polarity,

Conjured the pivot to juncture:

Breathing was never the same again.

Ice for a godmother:

Bikes to the office park

Vanquished by winterness.

Revive them with bourbon

And bless them with stupor.

Slip on the ice—use crampons and slip

(You'll keep slipping)

Off of the surface. Harvest the luck

(Like a truffle

You fed with your excrement

[Kindly intentions]):

Swallow, inhale and recycle

That fragment of nothingness.

Grasp to the luckiest railing,

Treebranch—in fact snap off the first twigs

Spring has to offer and cushion

The imminent fall

(You are falling):

Smother the buzzings of springtime.

A bough is a whip in disguise

As neckties are nooses disguised.

Chase every sunset to rot on horizon.

Grind in the caverns—bury yourself in the mines.

Dodge the commitment.

Trap the undying.

Praise the unyielding absences.

Example:

Snow is the dandruff that falls from temples,

Fragments that signal the stillness deep winter

Offers is gone and that motion's conceivable.

Thaw and thus water is where I am headed.

Water, or blood; am I water or blood?

Nighttime has eyes in the cameras, sky, and faces;

An eye that has blinked itself shut,

Squeezed out a tear and might open again.

“As of 6 p.m. ET, the weather service had 21 active tornado warnings, plus less urgent tornado watches that spanned 11 states.”

—CNN Wire Staff, CNN; 6:29 PM EST, Fri March 2, 2012

http://www.cnn.com/2012/03/02/us/severe-weather/?hpt=hp_c1

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Universal Exchange [Today's News Poem, February 24, 2012]

Universal Exchange [Today's News Poem, February 24, 2012]

Canopy, marketplace, sign of the scale—

What is the balance—what's in the balance?

Is it feast? Is it ample like booty?

If its sum adds to zero, then pity

Losers if loss is our destiny?

Loss is desire, pity's oppression

(And language subjective), meaning's

Subjective. Balance: the anchor,

Currency, chain and the sign of the tongue.

“There are a number of professions in which workers are paid, in part, with a figurative lottery ticket. The worker accepts a lower-paying job in exchange for a slim but real chance of a large, future payday.”

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/02/26/magazine/why-are-harvard-graduates-in-the-mailroom.html

=

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Choker of the Apes [Today's News Poem, February 17, 2012]

Choker of the Apes [Today's News Poem, February 17, 2012]

Property is theft; likewise is the self.

Selfness is the lapse, folly and betrays.

Ownership is flaw, ego and the self's

Selfish, and a slave; prayer of the false teeth.

Self is a desire—nothing like our maw.

Atoms and your tears give you to ourselves.

Polymers of life, lifelines on a string,

Billions on our neck: choker of the apes.

“DURING Mr. Soleri’s long tenure, Arcosanti evolved into a surprising anachronism: a company town. The product line? Handmade bells and heady theories about imaginary cities, or “arcologies.” Ordinary capitalism — independent businesses and privately held homes — was anathema.”

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/02/16/garden/an-early-eco-city-faces-the-future.html

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Toylit For February 10, 2012

Toylit For February 10, 2012

Science Failure, The Victory of Failure, and The Psychology of Victory and Failure.

Featuring:

Elegy for Sisyphus, Obituary for Roger Boisjoly, by Valerie Valdes

Miles of Human Files, On Social Media Millionaires, by Khakjaan Wessington

Papier Mâché Jihad, #twitterfoundpoem, by Khakjaan Wessington

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Elegy for Sisyphus [Today's News Poem, by Valerie Valdes, February 10, 2012]

Elegy for Sisyphus [Today's News Poem, February 10, 2012]

By Valerie Valdes

in memoriam, Roger Boisjoly

He rolled boulders off his lawn for hours
every day until his muscles were chained
to exhaustion, until sleep stayed precariously
balanced in his grasp instead of falling
downhill like a punishment for his failure.
"We were talking to the right people," he said, but
seven astronauts were dead, their faces replayed
nonstop on news channels as the shuttle exploded
every time he closed his eyes. Cancer
finally killed what guilt tried to crush: a good man
shouldering the weight of his own impotence.
For almost thirty years he pushed
other engineers to do more, say more, to swear
on words binding as the Styx, where he now waits
quietly for the ferryman to row him across, to a field
green as a Florida summer, with no stones in sight.

"The NASA officials on a conference call didn't want to hear it. The shuttle program managers were desperate to prove they could launch reliably. When do you want me to launch, one of them said, next April? A year later, Boisjoly suffered from disabling headaches. He moved boulders off his lawn all day so he'd be exhausted enough to sleep at night. And he huddled in the corner of a couch, thin and tearful, his arms folded tight, ready to speak out."

http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2012/02/06/146490064/remembering-roger-boisjoly-he-tried-to-stop-shuttle-challenger-launch

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Miles of Human Files [Today's News Poem, February 10, 2012]

Miles of Human Files [Today's News Poem, February 10, 2012]

A loneliness file: apartment, an isle—

Classified, epic, layered with red brick.

If the marquee calls in the hall of halls

As wind does battle with door-frame rattles,

Watch the water non-water monitor

And touch the unknown; the fleeting, the flown.

Burn your mascara, corneas, era.

You have indexed lusts and electron busts

And changed the texture of surface: sex-pure,

Gloss and odious—flaws and hideous.

“Imagine looking for a house in San Francisco or one of the nicer parts of Silicon Valley, which are already among the most expensive parts of the country. Now imagine having to bid against a legion of newly minted Facebook millionaires.”

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/02/09/us/california-housing-market-braces-for-facebook-millionaires.html

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Papier Mâché Jihad [Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem, February 10, 2012]

Papier Mâché Jihad [Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem, February 10, 2012]

I tend to overthink so I'm not going to settle

for just any path of God while seeking the truth. I want a paranoid

schizophrenic Jihad.

Don't be real. Be a paranoid schizophrenic.

it leads to doubt. Which lessens my faith, Which lessens my lessons,

Which causes paranoid schizophrenic Out of nowhere lessons.

Dear God, I want a paranoid God.

Jihad, I want a paranoid Fear God.

God, I want a paranoid God Jihad.

Fear honesty. Fear illusion. Get over illusion.

If you are not your thoughts,

If you are not getting better then what are you doing?

Jihad.

If your thoughts are not getting better then what are you doing?

Lessons of the Out of nowhere schizophrenic God.

instead of papier mâché Jesus, the Out of nowhere schizophrenic

#Jihad!

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News Poem, The Rules

Submissions are due Thursday 6pm PST and post Friday morning (PST). If you still don't understand the antinews ethos, then please read this Duotrope interview with me: http://www.duotrope.com/Interview.aspx?id=5378
Update: I need you to include the link to the news story as well as the quote that inspired the composition. Give me your website also, so I can link you.
Critique: if a news poem inspires you, compose a rebuttal/response and submit it. If I like it, I'll put it up.
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The News Poem Returns! Your Non-Sucky Antinews Submission is Required.

Listen you vile degenerates, I understand that everything is a swirl of confusing what-the-fuck miasma and that you feel light-headed; I understand, but you need to stop asking me if I want to subscribe to Playboy... what? You mean, you want me to start writing the News Poem again? That's great! How much are you paying? Jack shit still? Oh gee, sorry, I need a little more than that to get by, so maybe we can compromise: maybe you should submit YOUR news poems to me and maybe once a week I will publish them, ok? And if you're not total crapazons, maybe you'll click some ads this time and help subsidize my poetry addict--I mean, my poetry altruism... fuckers--I mean, loyal readers.

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Updates for Jan 2012

So as I was reading through the CIA World Factbook, I remembered that I wrote a pair of essays in October 2006 making specific predictions about the future of Russia. The 1st one accurately predicted Russia's return as a major industrial power (Putin's Portuguese Gambit) and the 2nd one accurately predicted Russia's return as a major military power (The Siloviki Security Vision For Russia). Makes me want to do a followup piece. I have a few projects that I am working on right now, but they are very hush-hush, top secret--so you'll just have to wait. In the meanwhile, if you know any banks that are hiring precognitive poets for 1 hour a year for a $250k/yr salary, let me know and I will consider reasonable offers. Return to Toylit
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You could have had anything and yet this is what you chose? Combatwords July 15-18

Balance does not mean order. It means a chaos antidote for chaos. Examples:

Angus: "it was hard to tell exactly being that he had boobs like some porn deva 30 years in retirement.The only articulating male factor apparent was the summer beard he displayed in patches."

Rtoady/Seann McCollum:
"I carry my shopping bags straight to the second hand shop.
I shit out my food the moment I’ve gobbled it up.
Even better, the stove sits beside the rubbish bin.
I’m bailing this ocean as fast as it’s trickling in."

Khakjaan Wessington (Me): "A ripe gourd fell at my feet and detonated, launching a thousand insects upon impact. Above us, I could see the bloatwood tree teetering, its branches full of parasite-filled fruit that trembled as rockets escaped."

There's still time to play Combatwords. Dare ye join in?

http://combatwords.blogspot.com/2011/07/combatwords-july-15-2011-balance.html

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Science Fiction or Fact? Combatwords, July 8-11, 2011

Sean McCollum: "In the future every baby was born with a computer in its skull which in turn was inhabited by a pixilated ghost prostitute. In the future, cannibalism. In the future, nuclear-powered unicycles were pedaled into the holographic wastelands where we did battle with a race of subterranean Adonises. Moons were lassoed together and flung like giant bolos across the solar system."

Wessington: "Keystrokes and flickered intention on monitor
Linked by the wireless data to trolly:
Sphinx of the fogbelt, lynx of the kilobit,
Minx of the fence—she is orange or tabby."

http://combatwords.blogspot.com/2011/07/combatwords-for-july-11-2011-rules-of.html

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The BATS Will Destroy You: New/Old Essay up on Unlikelystories

Where the fuck have I been? Where the fuck have you been? Okay, okay--let's ignore mutual recriminations... just admit you were wrong and we'll start over. No? Well how about you suck on an essay-pacifier you big baby?

http://unlikelystories.org/11/wessington0611.shtml

Not familiar with BATS? Sure, why would you be familiar with one of the best rock bands out there? You're too aesthetically blighted to find your own cool artistic vectors; that's why you're here, right? Well, after you've purchased their album (http://bats.bandcamp.com), you can read my poetic salute to them here:
http://toylit.blogspot.com/2010/08/stars-of-wormwood-for-star-of-wormwood.html

If you do this out of order, God won't smite you, because God doesn't exist. But you'll suffer a moral decay as you wait for divine punishment and you'll start subtly sabotaging yourself and inevitably this process will end in suicide.

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Exclusive Toylit Scoop: Bin Laden's Last Words! Photo Too!

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