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disco flowers



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Points: 13173
Reviews: 150
Wed Sep 28, 2011 3:51 am
perdido says...



Spoiler! :
please, blame me for the creation of this monster. I woke up this morning encased in igneous rock and I've no one to pickaxe me out of it. This is an antilove antiwar poem. These are the disco flowers (14 of them).



DISCO FLOWERS

“Dada cannot live in New York.
All New York is dada, and will not tolerate a rival.”

-Man Ray

1

Steve’s been saving up
for a bass guitar we go out late
to the cowboy bar and I know
I tread on sacred ground
when I ordered our whiskey neat

“we need to get the fuck out of here,”
says Steve, and mine is a New York
overrun with dead men, corpses cropped
to zombies and ghosts, all bartenders
are avid necromancers.

2

Steve’s been seeing UFOs
and now I see them too
we go up to the roof and smoke clove cigars
until New York turns

until the edges of New York meet like origami
and the city lights are eaten by acid like it was actually just one light
shining through the facets of a crystal
we are taken

on the arcs and waves of the trombone section
and dropped off like for soccer practice
in a city without light Steve says “maybe we were
over the rainbow the whole time.”

3

a stranger on unicycle tells us
welcome to wolf town
and Steve and I
see a UFO
pass over our heads
like the 1970’s
like a disco flower

4

Steve and I walk in roughly the direction
we saw the UFO going. Steve’s stumbling
like Edgar Allen Poe
he trips and picks up a pair of roller blades
from the gutter.

“these are my roller blades from when I was a kid,”
says Steve. I could try to hide it but I’m not surprised.
“They fit!” as snug as contraceptives
but they still won’t keep you dry.

5

Steve and I see an hourglass lady as we approach
Legume Avenue. “Bones before cones my brow,”
says Steve so I have to say “fuck you Steve.”

6

we introduce ourselves as wanderers and she smiles
her dress all black and clean like the inside of a coffin
Evan is her name and she’s a liquid tenet that is
the she lives in a building whose
blueprints are never the same twice.

“It’s like living inside your husband,” she says and swings her briefcase
but her fingers are all ringless Steve asks her if she knows
of any good parties and she says no and that
a lot of people who end up here think they are in hell.

but it isn’t hell it is pandemonium, it is the dadaist’s dream
it is a Rothko painting, a burning singularity of dream spaces
and urban canyon crags, it’s a cameraless photograph
an auragraph, a river full of the viscera and glossolalia
of dead giants and stars. “What is in the briefcase?” I ask

“skull fragments,” says she.

7

Steve roller skates and we go east,
we pass: peddlers selling bones, champagne poison
TV embroidery, jars full of sand, dandelions, muscle cars
confetti, mirrors, mobius strips, vegetable paste
mimes, cursed gemstones, and root beer.

“come to think of it,” Evan says. “The biggest party
in pandemonium takes place on the party UFO.”

Steve grabs my face and I could tell he considered
kissing it.

8

we’ve seen movies we know
how to get abducted by aliens
so we find some trees and hang out in the dark
I remind Steve that if they come for us we have to pretend
to try to escape. Everyone loves the thrill of a chase.

around us the city unfolds like an undressing lover,
empyrean and incarnadine, beams of light scathe the sky
and it takes me a few minutes to realize that they are spelling messages
on the clouds like please remember to drive safe and no uptown ? trains
after six pm
.

“Shit is that the train we need to take,” says Steve.

9

Linda always had her whiskey neat. Steve thinks about it
many years later when sitting on a rooftop. He remembers telling her
that “I don’t like soccer.”

Steve’s dad abandoned him at soccer practice in 1999 and
it’s been tequila moats around snowmen
ever since.

10

Linda’s the star of every soap opera
Steve describes over the phone
from Iowa while I’m playing football
on xbox, he’s drawing a chalk outline
around the moon.

“Linda is my
July 20th
1969”
says Steve.

after that it’s all NASA shutting down
it’s all space rex and amphetamines,
gin floods in movie theaters.

11

no luck in the forest so Evan takes us to a restaurant she knows
called Beard Wizard where all the waiters are bears
and all they serve is pints of rum.

“Can I have a grilled cheese sandwich?” asks Steve.

Evan,
Evangeline
she says she can pay because her looks are legal tender
and I know it is possible for a heart to be simultaneously multiplied
and divided, there’s a portrait of Buzz Aldrin hanging prominently
above the bar and I can tell that it’s fucking with Steve a little bit.

A grizzly bear in an apron brings Steve a pint of rum.
I snatch it and smash it on the ground and everything after
is rum soaked shadows.

12

Evangeline can talk to bears. She knows all the dialects,
throaty noises and growls and I breach the event horizon
of desire. Steve roller skates around the dance floor alone
some prankster rigged the jukebox to play Leonard Cohen’s
Lover, Lover, Lover 29 times, I counted
because that’s what friends do
to Steve I am just
a plaster simulacra of the moon

I am in danger of becoming
a whiskey crystal on the slide
of a playground.

13

Evangeline tells me to get Steve because we’re leaving
the Rolls Ruckus is picking us up so we go back to the forest
where a UFO lands and opens its hatch and everything else
is lava lamps filled with vodka everything else

is a punchdrunk lovesick beatdown
everything else finds us on the valence edge
of a dancefloor so crowded I stop wondering
why uranium is radioactive a homeboy sometimes
has just gotta leave and when we exit is as tachyons
shot through a collider and into our apartment.

14.

Steve’s been throwing up
like its not 1999 anymore
but I’m listless like the singer
in a metal band and I’ve go this feeling like
no one danced at my wedding when actually

everyone danced at my wedding but me.
my webcomic debuts eventually
http://vanmen.tumblr.com/
my blog updated occasionally
http://unmagnificent.wordpress.com/
  





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Wed Sep 28, 2011 11:44 pm
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BluesClues says...



I LOVE this. I especially love the line about the roller skates fitting like contraception, and the last two and a half lines. Oh, and this stanza:
“Linda is my
July 20th
1969”
says Steve.


I do have a couple minor suggestions or typos:

in a metal band and I’ve go this feeling like
Forgot the "t" in "got."

He remembers telling her
that “I don’t like soccer.”
Maybe it's just me, but the "that" is weird. Unless Steve remembers telling Linda that the narrator doesn't like soccer...but I suppose that's not what he was saying, since "I don't like soccer" is in quotes.

“skull fragments,” says she.
Just based on the rest of the poem, I feel like "she says" would be better than "says she." I just feel like this isn't that kind of poem, if you get my drift. In my opinion, "she says" would fit with the rest of the poem more.

“What is in the briefcase?” I ask
Like the last comment. I feel "what's" would flow more naturally and fit better than "what is."

Steve and I walk in roughly the direction
Compared to the rest of the poem, this is just kind of blah. I think it's the "roughly the direction" part.

welcome to wolf town
This should probably be in quotes since the rest of the dialogue is in quotes and this appears to be a line of dialogue since you say that a stranger on a unicycle told them "welcome to wolf town."

I don't really get the poem, although considering it's called "disco flowers" I guess that's okay - and it did cross my mind several times throughout the poem that maybe they're on drugs and that's why it's all confusing - but I loved it anyway. Your language and imagery and everything was great!

~Blue
  





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Points: 1061
Reviews: 5
Sat Oct 08, 2011 8:51 pm
eastarcher says...



Oh my gosh.

I read a lot of poems from unknown names online...and I have to say that this is one of the best, if not the best one I've read so far. It feels like Allen Ginsberg and William Faulkner. Do you read a lot of Ginsberg? This reminds me of Howl.

It's got all the sense and logic of an acid trip. That's fitting. I think it works beautifully.

Every line of dialogue is like a slap...they're all extremely clever, particularly what Steve says about 1969 and what Evan says about her suitcase of skulls. The passage:

around us the city unfolds like an undressing lover,
empyrean and incarnadine, beams of light scathe the sky
and it takes me a few minutes to realize that they are spelling messages
on the clouds like please remember to drive safe and no uptown ? trains
after six pm.

“Shit is that the train we need to take,” says Steve.


is pure brilliance, as well. It's beautiful, and I love the words empyrean and incarnadine but I had to use dictionary.com for them both.

Did you do this all in one sitting? Christ, I wish I could write like this.

I didn't like the mention of the UFO. UFOs have something of a campy connotation, and throwing one in pushes the piece a little too far into the realm of silliness. But that's marginal, and relatively inconsequential, and possibly a product of my own opinions about extra-terrestrial vehicles and what sort of feelings they give off.

Anyway, I really, really liked it. It's a crazy poem, and you should be proud of it.
Well, I want to be.
  





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Points: 7386
Reviews: 159
Thu Oct 20, 2011 10:29 pm
MeanMrMustard says...



Super sorry on my lateness here perdido.

perdido wrote:DISCO FLOWERS

“Dada cannot live in New York.
All New York is dada, and will not tolerate a rival.”

-Man Ray


For once, an epigraph I enjoy seeing. Nicely done.

1

Steve’s been saving up
for a bass guitar we go out late
to the cowboy bar and I know
I tread on sacred ground
when I ordered our whiskey neat

“we need to get the fuck out of here,”
says Steve, and mine is a New York
overrun with dead men, corpses cropped
to zombies and ghosts, all bartenders
are avid necromancers.

2

Steve’s been seeing UFOs
and now I see them too
we go up to the roof and smoke clove cigars
until New York turns

until the edges of New York meet like origami
and the city lights are eaten by acid like it was actually just one light
shining through the facets of a crystal
we are taken

on the arcs and waves of the trombone section
and dropped off like for soccer practice
in a city without light Steve says “maybe we were
over the rainbow the whole time.”

3

a stranger on unicycle tells us
welcome to wolf town
and Steve and I
see a UFO
pass over our heads
like the 1970’s
like a disco flower

4

Steve and I walk in roughly the direction
we saw the UFO going. Steve’s stumbling
like Edgar Allen Poe
he trips and picks up a pair of roller blades
from the gutter.

“these are my roller blades from when I was a kid,”
says Steve. I could try to hide it but I’m not surprised.
“They fit!” as snug as contraceptives
but they still won’t keep you dry.

5

Steve and I see an hourglass lady as we approach
Legume Avenue. “Bones before cones my brow,”
says Steve so I have to say “fuck you Steve.”

6

we introduce ourselves as wanderers and she smiles
her dress all black and clean like the inside of a coffin
Evan is her name and she’s a liquid tenet that is
the she lives in a building whose
blueprints are never the same twice.

“It’s like living inside your husband,” she says and swings her briefcase
but her fingers are all ringless Steve asks her if she knows
of any good parties and she says no and that
a lot of people who end up here think they are in hell.

but it isn’t hell it is pandemonium, it is the dadaist’s dream
it is a Rothko painting, a burning singularity of dream spaces
and urban canyon crags, it’s a cameraless photograph
an auragraph, a river full of the viscera and glossolalia
of dead giants and stars. “What is in the briefcase?” I ask

“skull fragments,” says she.

7

Steve roller skates and we go east,
we pass: peddlers selling bones, champagne poison
TV embroidery, jars full of sand, dandelions, muscle cars
confetti, mirrors, mobius strips, vegetable paste
mimes, cursed gemstones, and root beer.

“come to think of it,” Evan says. “The biggest party
in pandemonium takes place on the party UFO.”

Steve grabs my face and I could tell he considered
kissing it.

8

we’ve seen movies we know
how to get abducted by aliens
so we find some trees and hang out in the dark
I remind Steve that if they come for us we have to pretend
to try to escape. Everyone loves the thrill of a chase.

around us the city unfolds like an undressing lover,
empyrean and incarnadine, beams of light scathe the sky
and it takes me a few minutes to realize that they are spelling messages
on the clouds like please remember to drive safe and no uptown ? trains
after six pm
.

“Shit is that the train we need to take,” says Steve.

9

Linda always had her whiskey neat. Steve thinks about it
many years later when sitting on a rooftop. He remembers telling her
that “I don’t like soccer.”

Steve’s dad abandoned him at soccer practice in 1999 and
it’s been tequila moats around snowmen
ever since.

10

Linda’s the star of every soap opera
Steve describes over the phone
from Iowa while I’m playing football
on xbox, he’s drawing a chalk outline
around the moon.

“Linda is my
July 20th
1969”
says Steve.

after that it’s all NASA shutting down
it’s all space rex and amphetamines,
gin floods in movie theaters.

11

no luck in the forest so Evan takes us to a restaurant she knows
called Beard Wizard where all the waiters are bears
and all they serve is pints of rum.

“Can I have a grilled cheese sandwich?” asks Steve.

Evan,
Evangeline
she says she can pay because her looks are legal tender
and I know it is possible for a heart to be simultaneously multiplied
and divided, there’s a portrait of Buzz Aldrin hanging prominently
above the bar and I can tell that it’s fucking with Steve a little bit.

A grizzly bear in an apron brings Steve a pint of rum.
I snatch it and smash it on the ground and everything after
is rum soaked shadows.

12

Evangeline can talk to bears. She knows all the dialects,
throaty noises and growls and I breach the event horizon
of desire. Steve roller skates around the dance floor alone
some prankster rigged the jukebox to play Leonard Cohen’s
Lover, Lover, Lover 29 times, I counted
because that’s what friends do
to Steve I am just
a plaster simulacra of the moon

I am in danger of becoming
a whiskey crystal on the slide
of a playground.

13

Evangeline tells me to get Steve because we’re leaving
the Rolls Ruckus is picking us up so we go back to the forest
where a UFO lands and opens its hatch and everything else
is lava lamps filled with vodka everything else

is a punchdrunk lovesick beatdown
everything else finds us on the valence edge
of a dancefloor so crowded I stop wondering
why uranium is radioactive a homeboy sometimes
has just gotta leave and when we exit is as tachyons
shot through a collider and into our apartment.

14.

Steve’s been throwing up
like its not 1999 anymore
but I’m listless like the singer
in a metal band and I’ve go this feeling like
no one danced at my wedding when actually

everyone danced at my wedding but me.


Let's talk about this piece as a whole.

First, the discovered voice in this is perfect, Jack Kerouac comes to mind in his most rhythmic beat oriented writings. But, then you play with punctuation and phrases and expectations to no end that it's completely unlike Kerouac's impression and direct telling of events in Beat style. In these word-plays and puns and the giant over-lying narrative you're fully expressive of the entire underbelly of the universe and commiserating of misery; the UFO's and 60's/70's nostalgia and references are apt, good, but you get so focused into this wordplay and technique I lose the genuine perdido who wrote "always winter wolves" and the emotional resonance there.

So what war is this "anti-" to and what love exactly? A broad general based "anti"? I think you're taking on too much there with your narrow and limited timeline then, because it feels like a misplaced child out of the Beat generation, which sometimes I wonder if you go for that exactly.

Now let's be frank. The apartment/home/building changing and liquid tenant and the husband connection as well? Brilliant writing. Your rolling lines and rhymes come as completely natural as well, perfect writing.

That said, who is your voice here? What is the thing you are writing towards? Because I can't place my finger on exactly what's happening it's this broad broad broad experience on so much that by the end I'm thinking I was on the street and the most quirkiest and unusual band of misfits and vagabonds just passed by, sat down with me, we chatted, ate, then went on their way to never meet again. Your writing from each poem just recently is improving in poignancy and purpose immensely, however don't lose the vision and voice you need to make me see this as even more than nostalgia and pretty stanzas with excellent writing.

Ask me any questions you have whatsoever.
  








The greatest part of a writer’s time is spent in reading, in order to write; a man will turn over half a library to make one book.
— Samuel Johnson