Death6ish – Rehashed

I’ve finally stopped fiddling with my 100D long enough to sit down and take a look at part 1 of a 2 part sequence called Deathwish! Now, this poem, Death6ish, started in a way I can’t remember at this moment, but it tumbled way out of control and found itself glassed with references to Destiny as well as a pretty neat 6-line set that punctuates the entire piece.

As usual, including link to the full poem, but we’ll also be looking stanza-by-stanza.

Death6ish – Text

Stanzas 1 and 2:

“We planned out harvest
In August
And we knew what we
Were doing

Blue skies
Rich soil
Hills like
Gold foil”

I love August. August is when everything starts in Radio Reality City. It’s summery, and autumney, but not quite both yet. I’ve written about the feeling before, but not so well as I have in this poem.

So what have we here? Quatrains, with a single rhyme set in the latter stanza displayed here. This stanza sets the scene and also fleshes out the expectation for what I’ll be getting at. See, I can’t remember why I started writing this poem, but I know it was partially an exercise in visuals. I carry this theme heavily throughout as we’ll see.

“Yet this doesn’t feel like home
To us
This endless sunshine and white
Clouds in the ocean blue”

Alright, here’s the introduction of the conflict. This very clearly lays out the discord between the speaker and the weather. The happy, summery weather, I might add. According to tropes, this could mean the speaker is uncomfortable with happiness. We also see a reiteration of the blueness of the sky, compared to the ocean this time. Pretty generic stuff in imagery there.

“We work with what we’ve wrought

When the weather rots
And clouds enrage
At the prospect
Of having not rained

These are the seeds we’ve got
Growing relicous vines and fruit
With a taste that makes cheeks hot
Against an autummnal chill”

Hey now, this is getting good. We’re introduced to the overall theme of the poem in that 6 w-word line, and then we see the personification behind it raining. Okay, cool.

We’re also now exposed to the idea of crop-rearing, and the word ‘relicous’ is thrown in there. I’m going to be perfectly honest, that’s not a word. It’s like the title, where I kinda make it out of the things one would expect root words could attached to.

In this instance, I’m treating the word ‘relic’ as an adjective. Very old vines and fruit that warms you up as you consume. At least I think that was my intention, because I don’t have the notebooks necessary to tell me if this was actually intentional on my part.

“These seeds that grip and root
Entrench and shoot
Through the dirt
And cobble rocks”

Still sticking with the quatrains so far, and this one implies the seeds from which that relicious fruit has grown. Little rhyme along AABC in this one.

“Cherry plot ploughshares
Beaten into swords to defend
Our fields from thieves
Looking to steal our bounty”

Now this stanza is a good one. This is the crux of the whole thing, the theme, the everything. It’s a good knock at the conflict here. Ploughshares beaten into swords in order to keep safe the crops. There is an enemy of some description.

Skipping ahead a few stanzas:

“Meadows in infras and yellows
And fierce copper fields
Rife with ripe-wroughts
Shimmering in somber breeze

We work with what we’ve wrought
Into October
Still”

More of that imagery I was mentioning earlier. And then we get a tercet playing off of our central theme. It’s autumn, the harvest is going well, and hell, we’re rhyming a little bit!

“When the wind cannot still
And our ploughs
Beaten back again will
Work the ground now colored
Charred and hazel”

Harvest is being harvested. There’s no need to fight at the moment, and we’ve really broken from the expected quatrains and now we’re entering the penta-dimension. We’re also keeping a rhyme scheme going here as we continue along, much more voraciously than before. ‘Still/ will/ hazel’.

“November and

Swords stand like gargoyles
In the eroding chill
Above a bounty of copper crops
Bearing delicious hot fruit

Our livelihood and sustenance
Our
Brave vermillion
And
Valiant harvest”

The month is over and now we’ve formed swords again to save the things we’ve worked to make. Vermillion was such a good choice, that line in its entirety ‘brave vermillion’ deserves its own poem. Copper, infra, reds, yellows, and straight up vermillion. It’s November now. Harvest is over.

“No matter what
Come bad crops
Or storms nonstop
Hell or high water

We
Work
With
What
We’ve
Wrought”

And we end with a note that echoes the references made above. We work with what we’ve wrought.

I had this poem introduced as part of the workshop class I had last year, and in it someone interpreted this poem to be of farmers in the modern day of some description. Where, I really only liked the imagery and needed a way to thread it together. This was one of those poems I wrote that initially had no meaning. As time has gone on, I’ve seen so much in this little world I’ve made.

Time is not measured outside of those months, so this could be anywhere on the world.

It also doesn’t mean that crops are the things that are literally being defended. I wanted this poem to invite as many personal interpretations as possible. Even the ‘brave vermillion’ could reference bloodshed. Doesn’t have to be an item being fought over. Could be ideas, sentiments, or perhaps something else entirely.

The title is the telling part. Deathwish with a 6 where the ‘w’ should be. To connote the 6 w-word line, but also just the word deathwish thrown in there. What does it mean?

That’s exactly what it means. If you work with what you’ve wrought, you have a deathwish. Then is it entirely a good thing that these people are fighting off thieves for their own good? Are they simply surviving? It opens up so many questions, but it also leads to the reason the title is such an oddball.

You don’t need to just survive. The folly is doing just that, working with what you have.

Maybe it’s the capitalist in me, but that must mean there can always be more included with what you have, and you should seek to take it. Though, the farming interpretation was a good one, it’s not what I was going for. Sorry, Larry.

This poem also has a sequel titled Deathw7sh II, along the same chords, but an entirely different direction. We probably won’t be rehashing that one until we get midway down the barrel. Death6ish also has a prequel, called 1eathwish. Which keeps the themes intact but sets them against a perspective looking more cynically on why this specific aphorism is a deathwish to follow.

There is also a follow up to the overall series in Autumnreach, meant to be a part of the overall story but from an entirely different point in the universe, but connects it to the Poikilothermal set. 1eathwish is one we might be getting to later on. I think it’s equally as, if not more, powerful compared to Death6ish. This universe also also connects up to the ‘Knight’ series. We’ll be exploring that much later.

Hope you’ve enjoyed this rehash. Death6ish is a bit of an anomaly where everything started very uncertain and fell into place to make something really meaningful.

Next up, we’ll take a look at Warsxzaw, a poem coming out of the November Era III, or November of 2016. This one also deals with rain, but it also deals with different eras and first dates. How exciting!

SERE Kit – Journal 12/19/17

Things published in certain ways can influence the way you speak, think, and record your own self as you go about your life. That’s where I think the importance of reading lies, the solitary consumption of words give people ways to decipher each other’s meanings in the words we say. I could say that’s one of the reasons I choose to right a lot of poetry, and why above all else I can count on myself to feel that desire to lineate above all other expression.

Poetry is a condensed form of novelization. It’s a highly-interpretive forum for an author to say what could be complete gibberish, and have someone on the other side put it together. Like military codes without codebooks. You just figure out where to drop the bombs.

As such, I almost always post a poem here a day at Radio Reality City. I think it’s a very easy way to spread the art of language in a nearly contextless way. 9:30 in the morning: a poem is live. And up to the person who finds it to make sense of it.

To be clear, I’m not bashing other arts. But I do think that abstracter arts are the ones that are more compelling. At least that’s what I used to say to people who weren’t fond of poetry, because I think you can find a comfort in having your hand held the entire way through a plot. What if that plot is four lines long and has no punctuation? What’s there to be pieced together? Quite a bit, if the author can find a way to make dense the diction.

All this to say: I’ve picked up the novel House of Leaves. Haven’t done much with it yet, but I have it and intend to dive in.

Wordy wordy wordy words. I find myself at a work computer with my head in my hands from waking up early today. Early for me being 7 AM. Yeah, go ahead and gatekeep, I normally work evenings or have evening classes so my mornings really start at 10 or 11 on an average day. Today is no average day.

Even that admonition against the day is a way to influence how my character is presented here on RRC. I remember in middle school when being depressed was what made everyone unique. Everyone projected a character of hopelessness or emoism, and somehow that let everyone be able to interact on that same level. As unguided and juvenile as it is, it worked.

Now you can find all sorts of people making self-deprecating jokes, and that’s just the evolution of such representation.

So no, I’m not depressed. I don’t think I ever have been. And even though I’m tired, I’m here, and it’s only a matter of time before I finally wake up. Aaaaand until then every little thing is just a little more annoying. Meh, I can handle that.

Hello, how are you? I guess it’s time to move away from the waxing portion of this one and talk about personal stuff that’s actually happening.

Well, I’m tentatively clutching an Associate’s of Arts degree. That’s pretty cool, but still fighting the last few centimeters for it.

Abandon Ship is on the horizon, and I can’t wait to jump. I even completely accidentally ended my Lithium Autumn submission with Abandon Ship, like it makes sense! Crazy.

Mount Si go number 2 is tomorrow! Found some coworkers that want to go hiking, and our first climb will be that glorious piece of granite! And a storm has crept in. Perfect, right?

Kirke: wonderful as always.

The Punisher is probably the best damn series I’ve ever seen.

My spare time lately has been spent staring into space while watching the news. Yesterday a new Amtrak line in the county went totally off the rails over THE major freeway, locally. Which is nuts. I didn’t think that happened anymore, yet here we are. In with the news is all the… fascinating new depths corporate America and federal America are plunging through.

This branches off rather cleanly into a topic I’m still pretty light on in day-to-day journaling here, and that’s politics. Check it: I used to think way on the side of “politics is something literal nerds study”. Nowadays I’ve come to realize that everybody in the world needs to be involved in politics, because everybody is effected by it. The good, the bad, the weird, ugly, vitriolic, educated, everybody.

I live in a system that is becoming increasingly malicious towards the people it serves. Kinda like EA back in 2008.

With that in mind, I have become nearly hyper-capitalist when it comes to making my own way. I feel like if I want something, I need to take it. This has led to a very strange, indescribable sensation of needing to be calculated and steps ahead of everything I do. Mind games have taken on a new meaning. I can’t just make action, I need to think of why and how to action. But it’s easier to be steps ahead when the opposition and end goal is clear.

If someone needs help that I can provide, I will provide it. But if I want to self-publish, no one else is going to do that for me. That’s actually in the definition of the phrase.

That’s the mentality I will carry into my political writings. I love other authors for their voices on matters of the sort, but I haven’t firmly placed myself on the side of “write it” until now. Even in art, the truth can be a very awful thing, and that’s a reality.

Yet there is still fun to be had in a place that takes itself slightly more seriously than it did yesterday. Even if yesterday’s “Trust” was very similar to things I read in Autumn House last year. To reiterate: definitely not depressed. But when I write these things I think about what I’ve been thinking lately. There’s a word for that, but I’m tired and can’t be bothered to look it up.

Man, we really went from waxing poetic to waxing poetic, didn’t we?

Right: I really don’t want to become a heavy-all-the-time super serious unfunny character on your screen as more of these come out. Worse blogs are more opinionated, but I’m always worried about how I’m represented. I’m much more humorous and loud in person.

Trust me.

So consume reality, all who read these words. Invest in yourself! You’ll get better returns than you will on $GPRO trading!

If I Could Be Any Age – Unadulterated

if i could be any age

This page looks like it’s been put through the wringer. Transcript: “If I could be any age I would want to be seven because being young rocks. You can get more toys than grown-ups, like race car tracks, star wars legos, police kit. Anyway I’m just saying that being young rocks!”

Oh boy. This one’s going to be fun to pick apart, I think. So if I was 7 back when this was written, I was in second grade. It would have been the year 2004. Man, if only I knew that we were getting knee deep into the war on terror, huh?

It’s interesting reading this now and thinking about what my teacher must have thought reading this. This could possibly be the product of innocence. I would look hungrily at toys when I was in the market with my mom. Walmart, Kmart, Big Lots plastic toys filled with cheap circuits and LEDs would always catch my eye without fail. Funny how as I’ve grown up I’ve come to hate marketing.

But it was those $12 play guns that always got my eye. It’s a damn shame, but I really hope those two-bit toy mills feel like they pulled one over on a 7 year old.

“Being young rocks,” I urge my teacher, Mrs. Hrovat. It smacks of ignorance. But it could also make someone feel bad depending on how old they are. Would I want to be 7 again now? Hell no. That should be an answer anyone comes up with to that question.

I wanted race car tracks and toy police sets. Now I own a god damn riot shield and a baton, in addition to some actual militaristic collectibles. Some of the real thing. And along the way I’ve come to understand industry and other aspects of life totally invisible to a 7 year old. Innocence is synonymous with ignorance. Joji has a good piece on this: “In this age of the internet, ignorance is a choice. And they’re still choosing ignorance.”

Maybe people just want to remain innocent for as long as they can. I don’t share that sentiment, for I’d rather be aware of as much of my surroundings as I can. Life is a little too fickle to not know of many variables.

I remember not knowing at all what was going on on 9/11. All I knew is that my parents got me from school early that day. We were outside our house later that night, and my parents told me to look up at the sky to notice there were no airplanes flying. Being close enough to LAX and an Air Force base, that was impossible under any other circumstance.

So much I wasn’t aware of. Oh, 7 year old me, I’d love to tell you where you’d be now, but if I did I would probably use my time travel capability a lot smarter than that.

PLUS there’s a fucklot of experience between those 13 years you have to go through to become that same person at the end of the journey. Ongoing journey, anyways.

Because instead of Star Wars legos, I can go on a date to see The Force Awakens in theaters. Pretty cool, second-grade me. You’ve come a long way.

Self Destruct

I would probably
Self destruct

If you weren’t around

You save me from myself
When I think for myself

And you’re the one
Who comes up from
Behind the wall
To see what trouble
I’ve gotten into

And you untangle me
From my mess
Assist and wait for me
To be in distress

Again

You make me feel
Like there’s nothing wrong
Even when I suck
At singing songs

I feel like
You redefine natural
And make it so there’s
Nothing to fear

I just need you here
Sometimes
When it hurts too much
I can’t think enough
To save myself

But it doesn’t matter
What the situation is
As long as it’s us
Sharing a kiss

Because I’d probably
Self destruct
Without you

And I’d be looking
All over
Just to

Find out where you’d gone
And to see for just how long
Because I know at the end
I wouldn’t have to miss you

Worst Side of Me

You got what you were
Looking for
I guess

2 AM before a final
A year and a half
After we stopped
Talking

2 years and 3 months
After I ripped
Your heart to shreds

Didn’t listen
To anything you said

“I hate that I love you”
I can understand that
Feeling now but

Somewhere deep inside I
Protested
That this was something
I took to bed one night

And decided to make it all
Your fault

I guess this wasn’t the
Best thing to do

Playing my cards
And breaking you

Am I over it yet
Or have you just
Raised all the god
Damn stakes

From 39
Miles
And years
Away?

I guess that wasn’t
The best side of me
When you were crying
Because of me

You got your revenge
With all the quotes
You said

“I wish this past
4 days was just
A dream”

“Selfish as fuck”

Since then it’s been
Waves
Washing over me

Feeling it all around

I feel like I’m hexed
Or cursed myself
Can’t ever say enough
For the things I did

I can’t apologize
Or take it back
Can’t punish myself enough
Or take a whip and crack

It across my back
Enough
To leave canyons of scars
Arcing across my spine

“Selfish and cold lying
Piece of scum”
Now that time’s past
I can see that’s what I had
Become

“I’m shaking and I’m hurt
And I want to punch you
And I want to hug you”

If only I could see myself
Then
What indifference flowed
Through my hands

If only you could listen to me
Now
And forgive me for what
I said

But now with that mark
You’ve left on me
You’ve gotten your
Revenge

“Thanks for when
We were together.
I had a lovely time.”

The kind of thing
That should have snapped
Me out of it
And made me cry

Made me realize what
I was doing was wrong

But it’s been saved for
Until now

You will forever
Be a part of me
You will forever
Be a regret

You will always be the thing
I knew I should have kept

Your influence reaches
Into my speech
Into my writing
Into my head

Every day
All day

And not a day goes by
Where I don’t wonder why
I was so stupid and thick

Why I couldn’t see that
You were also the thing
I needed

I live and live and relive
All about us all over again

I live with those regrets
And in the end,
Every day of my life
I think of you again,
And
You reap your eternal revenge

A Lot of Staples – Journal 5/4/17

Why, I’m published again! I did it! I went to an event where I did a slam of Splatter Masquerade and made a funny jab about not being able to read Wrong Number! Ohmygod this fills me with a fire unlike anything else! So many writers in one room for the release reception of the Pierce College Student Literary and Arts Magazine, so many people I know! My professor, past professors, past employers, current friends and all kinds of sort! It was such a rush doing the photography and then walking out, having talked to everybody, with 7 copies of this monster of a book in my hands. I’m filled with a lot of pride this week. Listening to Run by Xilent, today. AND someone took video of me doing my thing behind the podium for a minute and a half, and video of that will be going on at the same time as Slam, Bitch, Slam… soon.

Man, it’s hard to top that, but speaking to one of my old professors, he gave me a little ego boost as well. See, I don’t know what I really want to do with the rest of my life. I have aspirations to go work at Rooster Teeth some day, because I think it’d be an amazing environment and an opportunity to do the things I love while being supported for it. My professor took me aside and said, “You’re above this. You need to go to university and get published. Then go higher and higher and higher and don’t stop.” Which has got to be in the top five things I’ve ever heard. It gave me the sense that what I’m doing is good and worth it, and that this, Radio Reality City, isn’t meaningless. I’m doing what I wanted to two years ago, with an amazing audience that’s continued to slowly build. You guys have helped make this. And if you’re trying to build something, don’t stop: someone will appreciate you and what you do.

And I’m starting to be able to write at work more consistently, actually write whole poems or fragments of poems, not just words and phrases. Something in me has tilted fully back into being able to go nonstop writing, which is such an amazing thing. Being able to turn creativity on and off has always escaped me.

Good vibes. Rosy White Alcove, Splatter Masquerade, and Wrong Number all join the rank with Virgo Olympus as things that have been published at a collegiate level. And the write train has no brakes!

Onwards! We can keep going, and I’ve got fuel to last this whole endeavor ’till the end. Let’s do it!!

Stutz Squadron

You were always trying
To impress people
Or subtly calling for
Attention

In late senior year you shaved
Your head shameless
And got weirder than you
Had been before

Your on again/off again
Boyfriend deserted you
In an attempt to suck out the
Venom from between you two

You called yourself bisexual
To rebel against your parents
I assume, since I never saw you
With another girl

You’ve been desperate before
And tried to come onto me
But it didn’t happen and you
Moved on, though we were friends

I’ll still remember that one night
You sexted me with the outward
Intent of just needing to
“Break out”

You said the compliments I gave you
Gave you a lot of confidence
And I sincerely hoped that helped
You decide who you were

Always so angsty
You never seemed
To say “I’m me”
Like most high schoolers

You wanted to be what other people
Wanted you to be
And for a long time I was your
Confiding voice

You were a friend to me
So I was happy to be
There to talk to and have you
Figure yourself out through

Your religious parents
Kicked you out when they found out
That you called yourself
Bisexual

Perhaps when you just found out
Who you were
You were forced to move in
With relatives far away

I hope you’ve got it down
By now

Advencere (Unadulterated)

advencere

Oh, boy. Where to begin with this one! I suppose for those of you who aren’t me I should probably translate my shitty handwriting:

“If I was deserted on a island I would go fishen’. If there were no fish, i’d serch for cocanuts. If there were no cocanuts, I guess i’d just die. But instead i’d advencere!”

First of all, I’m glad I had the nerve enough to decide to put twang on “fishen'” with that apostrophe to indicate an accent. The fuck was that about?

Secondly, I’m gonna get real petty. Change “a island” to “an island”, capitalize each “I’d”, misspelled “coconuts”, misspelled “search”, misspelled “adventure”. 2/10 try better next time.

I think this one was from first grade, so it’s funny to me that I was self-aware enough that I knew I would eventually die on an island if my plans just failed. Shows exactly how much confidence I had as a six-year-old, huh? “Guess I’d just die” was my attitude. I was pretty carefree, in that regard. I just wanted to “advencere” myself to death!

I’d like to point out that my grand survival plan hinged on being somewhere that I could find fish and coconuts. That was what I was going to live off of. No talk of water, no talk of hunting, I’m gonna motherfucking fish for the rest of my life. And presumably drink coconut milk, which could be sustenance enough.

Fish can provide about 400 calories, if we’re talking something like an Atlantic salmon. Which works for me, because the water around some of those Caribbean islands would be nice and warm to go spearing the bastards in.

Just doing some quick googling, and holy shit there’s about 1.4K calories in a medium-sized coconut. Those sons a bitches will also work to actively hydrate similar to water or a sports drink. Well I’ll be damned, looks like that would have worked.

My failsafe plan for survival in the first grade would have only required 2 fish a day and a single coconut if we’re talking a pure 2,000 calorie diet. I really thought it sounded stupid when I came across this ancient piece of paper, but fuck me that sounds like a good plan.

If I didn’t have this plan in the first grade, and I were stranded on an island, I guess I’d just die.

As with some of my other work from elementary, this one includes a very subtle twist. Notice it doesn’t just say “washed up on an island”, it says “deserted”. Like, was this an intentional thing? Was I marooned by my pirate crew? There’s a story here that’s not being fucking told, and seeing as we’ve settled how I’m going to survive on this island, I think the more interesting plot development is that I may have been left here by someone.

See, this is the kind of shit that pisses me off when it comes to plotlines. Just gonna throw in a hint and hope the audience glosses over it, six-year-old me? 13 years later that’s not true! I want answers, you sly bastard.

Passed Through His Story

A spectre of choices
Just who am I?
An umbra of history

An ancient part of
His story

He who was deciding
Eclipsing the mystery

Those times all lie frozen
In stasis, never to be
Don’t know where they could’ve gone
Time fractures under siege

His forms have transformed
They built a pyramid
I see right where he came from
From atop the bodies