Friday, May 15, 2009

Pucker Up and Kiss the Asphalt

El Mas Pezado ~ Hector Javier Ramirez

In the end these are only words
Arranged to obey an apparent reason
Pixel spit on electronic paper
Rising and falling with modal season

I don’t speak for the herded masses
Content to eat the status quo
I can’t wear those optimistic glasses
I’ll take my meals down below

In the selfish cellar of self-delusion
Where I have come to grow old
Wrapped in the glory of cold seclusion
Finger strikes between key and mould

Spew forth algorithms ill-defined
Non-inclusive and bitter sweet
Won’t show the way to any mind
Won’t paint the lines upon the street

Thankful for the malcontents and ill-adepts
Those who, like me, cannot conform
To the lie that’s left on the morning steps
The paper mask that’s called the norm

Title from One Armed Scissor by At the Drive-In


the walking man said...

I like this very much from title to closing pixel.

Candie Bracci said...

Really well written!

Yodood said...

The lunatic is in the hall.
The lunatics are in my hall.
The paper holds their folded faces to the floor
And every day the paper boy brings more.

Brain DamageRoger Waters

James Higham said...

The paper mask that's called the norm.


Pisces Iscariot said...

Thank you Walking Man & Candie

Yodood: the worst is: The lunatics are in my head

James: I like your new avatar :)

Anonymous said...

What interests me is how one of the herded masses might break out of their contented optimistic bubble- what sort of jolt must that take? What story would be there?

Very thought-provoking... but why 'selfish cellar of self-delusion'? Surely the speaker would think the massess are self-deluded, not himself?

Forgive if I have totally misconstrued!!

Candie Bracci said...

Screw the norm!

Pisces Iscariot said...

Cinnamon: If the current round of political buffoonery doesn't do it - I dunno. The cellar refers to the questions one must ask oneself when making judgements on others... who am I to say what's right?
What alternatives do I offer?
Perhaps the state of sheepness is a comfortable place? The black sheep may be able to see the world in a different light, but some primal part of him/her would still like to share the comfort of the herd.
Unfortunately (or fortunately) once this particular species of sheep has escaped (or been driven) from the herd, there is no going back (other than some form of lobotomy).

Candie: You go girl! :D

Moineau En France said...

"Very thought-provoking... but why 'selfish cellar of self-delusion'? Surely the speaker would think the massess are self-deluded, not himself?"

because to think himself any closer to self-realization or even the truth of the lie would be the height of inanity, if not complete immodesty. the poet puts himself, psychically speaking, amid the mass of humanity even as he delves even deeper into his own self-deception (the selfish "cellar" where he "selfishly"––i think this is ironic because he MUST––write these things, i think you would have to, P)... he knows we are all malcontents with differing ways and levels of knowing, yet he does not judge himself worthier than any other, perhaps even bemoans the thrusting vision! no, he just tells the truth, his truth, even about himself. the poet who sees himself above the throng is not a poet i would want to read or know.

and this is brilliant, and we need more of these, more poems with a social consciousness that breaks the mold of "come and behold the beauty of this world!" i have seen enough of those" i seek the unmasking of the powerful. it won't happen, of course, he can't delude himself, but he'll sit in his hole and write letters to the world, and in whose hands they land, well, in the words of bashung: "laisse le vent du soir d├ęcider." (let the wind of night decide.)

so good to read you, my piscean brother! great writing as always, deep and dark and true. xoxoox :>>))