wanting to lie together till night falls asunder
me reading HOWL and you
reading me.
– Hoc Scripsi
May 5, 2010
Karl Marx spends today dead
Karl Marx – revolutionary, author or pamphlets, economist and historian, an important figure to the history of man, an important name to begin many arguments between people who have probably never read said pamphlet.
Karl you are dead now but if you weren’t someone or someones would be breaking the copyright treaties and singing you happy birthday on live television probably, but maybe radio. That will not be me. I think it may happen even in death – China would be the place as there is no copyright treaty there or if there is, they don’t give a shit about it.
that is my chat about Marx this morning.
I am interested in the argument or the overall agreement of politics and art. Found this argument or agreement over at HTML and found the phrase – ‘Art without politics is inconsequential.’ – Wow I said – I think that statement is huge and wholly incorrect. I believe art can only be about beauty and the reader/viewer/listener can apply whatever they wish to a piece. All good art renders some consequence and art about beauty or the bystander witness to anything certainly has importance, impact and other ‘i’ words but is by no means inconsequential. Once you make the definition of a word like politics so full of breadth it loses any potential meaning and is rendered useless but the poet.
If you’ve never seen beauty rendered so perfectly to your eyes/ears than I would suggest obtaining new eyes/ears.
Today’s poem does not lack the broader definition of politics.
Hey, listen. I’ve placed this one in this blog before but that was awhile ago and this morning I altered it when utilizing it elsewhere. So here it is again…
short-form
pen made in Japan.
paper in Italy.
thoughts from Africa.
these hands from Spain.
I was born with knowledge,
baptized a Lutheran.
yesterday I was an African tribal Priest;
this morning I am an American Buddhist.
these are my interracial writings –
give love to all my brothers and sisters.
– Hoc Scripsi
April 22, 2010
it is unfortunate that there will now be a lot of poetry about volcanoes and planes traversing the ash.
April 16, 2010
one off the cuff at seven-thirty Am
you can’t even laugh at your own jokes.
but I don’t know where to start.
we’re stranded on a desert island
and we only brought one thing,
it wasn’t the satellite phone.
a man crossed the road, longing
for the other side. or was
it a woman.
or a chicken.
I plan on never being as old as
my father, who is not ageless.
Miles Davis plays on the radio.
cleaning my glasses with microfiber.
abreast the impudent children.
– Hoc Scripsi
This is my offering today. not much in it’s own regard. I am working on two much longer pieces. and they consume a lot of energy.
it is suppose to rain today, I seeded the lawn yesterday. I assume it will not rain today.
the platitudes of willful resemblance 