Life is my inspiration.
I write to release. I write to reveal. I write to hide. I write to ease my mind. My therapist is my pen. My desk is my couch. My mind is my mouth. I speak with waves and storms. These are my rantings and let-outs. These are the spiders that reside in the dark and damp corners of a haunted brain.
Some are the black widows: black and frightening with just a hint of a bloody red hourglass letting me and everyone else know that time is far too limited for all the things we love. Letting us know that it has power. Letting us know that we can't do anything about it's bite once bitten. Letting us know that we won't know it's there until it's too late.
Some are the brown recluses: small, boring, oddly powerful and yet somehow secluded in their loneliness and unwillingness to be seen or understood. Letting us know that they don't want to be disturbed. Letting us know that if we insist on violating its existence, it has no choice but to teach us a lesson better left untaught.
These are their stories, loves, hates, fates, pleas, requests, and regrets...
While others are the remains of meals that the spiders have feasted upon. A fly's wing or leg. An empty shell giving evidence of a soul since gone and dead, just a whisper in the corroders of my mind. A victim that has just enough energy and time left to tell a tale of horror and ominous death. Their tales are of a lover that will be missed. An enemy that will regret. A war that should have been won. A battle that was won yet unimportant except in their own life-essence.
These are their stories, loves, hates, fates, pleas, requests, and regrets...
Now on a not so symbolic note, these are actually my expressions inspired by certain events that occurred or still occure in my life. I began writing when I was obsessed with a nameless person. I have her to thank for my birth as a poet.
Some of the first poems resemble (and even regretfully, copy) the lyrical style of Silverchair, because I was heavily into them at the time, and I desperately wanted to write well...so I copied here and there (For example, the line, "Come and join in the mass debate" in my "Hate" is from their album Freak Show).
Then I delved into my rebellion from Christianity and embraced the deity of Satan, whatever he may be ("Broken", "Lucifer" - which is really saying that the object of my afore-noted obsession was the devil, "Trinity"). The themes of God, Heaven, Satan, and Hell are still prominant in my poetry, and I believe always will be, as I will never come to grips with the fact that I was duped into the hypocritical judgementalism of "The Faith".
I still clung to the theme of being a victim or being a victimizer ("Go Away", "You (Forgotten)", "Gonna (Miss Me)", "Hate", "The Same", etc., etc., etc....). I would continue to cling to this theme for years.
Then I started going out with Brooke, which spawned the likes of "No. 1 of '99" and "The Love That Overwhelmed", which I wrote for a school assignment and got a harsh 80% on.
Then I cocooned myself in suicide - which had already established itself in many of my previous poems - and glorified it, making it a beautiful act of pride and destiny ("Bullet of Freedom", "A Predetermined Course", "Kill You"). Suicide had become a major part of my thought process leading to three attempts in four years... the third and last the most serious, leaving a blade imprint on my wrist for three days. I had the blade pressed there hard enough to leave the bruise, but I never moved the blade. That was the farthest I had ever gotten - even to writing "Good-bye" notes to all who I cared to either scorn or condole. Murder had always facinated me. The ability to overcome God's gift of life. The finality in the act of taking away all of someone's chances and hopes and dreams and future. But mostly taking away my pain and suffering by killing others who hurt me or pissed me off ("Now We're Thru", "Save Time", "Kill You", etc.).
I also began to look at the big picture of life and it's ultimate ending ("I Am", "Welcome To The World", "Gold Hell", "Satisfaction", "Look Inside and Behind", "The Time Has Come", etc.)...
Then all of these just kind of melded and collaborated into a massive organism that just spewed forth equations and compounds of all of those themes, spreading out over months and months.
Then other themes began to surface, that had been glimpsed at prior in such works as "Kill You" and "You (Came)". Themes such as sex and love, no matter how twisted they may be. They started to become the nucleus of certain poems, such as "Stretchole", "Badnight", "Maybe Then" and "Give In Twice". All of those themes that had melted together into some sick ore were segregating again, allowing the focus of my concentration to truly zero in and take aim at a specific point.
This is when, I believe, that my writing really improved. It was good before, now I was impressing even myself with my writing. I don't want to sound pig-headed or pompous. That's not my intention. In retrospect, it's just that I notice that around this time is when I wrote some of my best. I began to focus on friends that I cared for and missed ("Your Eyes" and "If I Had The Right"). Due to my new-found focus, the poems that delt with the violence and mayhem were more gristely and detailed, although nothing will ever compare to "Kill You" or "Face Shrine".
At this peak in my imaginative originality, I changed, wanting to focus more on the positivity that exists in the world. Thus I wrote "My Regards" as a kind of end cap for the infant era of my writing life.
Noted (*) poems are explicit in some way.
"Alive and Guilty"
"Broken"(*)
"Hope"
"Life"(*)
"Lucifer"
"Eyes"
"Rebel"
"Go Away"
"Trinity"(*)
"You(Forgotten)"
"Gonna (Miss Me)"
"Hate"(*)
"The Same"
"They Did Not Know"
"Before There Was You"(*)
"You(Came)"(*)
"No. 1 of '99"
"The Love that Overwhelmed"
"Bullet of Freedom"(*)
"This Bliss"(*)
"Please"
"Now We're Thru"(*)
"I Am"(*)
"Welcome to the World"
"Save Time"(*)
"Gold Hell"
"A Predetermined Course"(*)
"Satisfaction"(*)
"Kill You"(*)
"Dead and Blameless"(*)
"Look Inside and Behind"
"The Time Has Come"
"Green Gel"
"Bad Seed"
"Red Cloud"
"Drug Face"(*)
"Shoot Up"(*)
"Blow Away"(*)
"Drive Mad"(*)
"Silent Thunder"
"Fire's Ice"
"Phony"(*)
"The Saddest Thing"(*)
"Make A Wish"
"Purity Rain"
"The Wasteland of Your Brain"(*)
"Now I Know"(*)
"Tin Goddess"
"Flesh Temple"
"Face Shrine"(*)
"Closer Heaven"
"The Further the Flock"
"God's Joke"
"Stretchole"(*)
"Please (Don't)"
"Our Awareness Growth"
"The Anthem"
"(I Am) The Third X"
"Badnight"
"Please (Take)"
"Maybe Then"
"Why Must I Lie?"(*)
"Black Organs Dead"
"To The Bed"
"Give In Twice"
"Black Rain Rising"
"Never Died"
"Thanks to the Tongues"
"Even He Should Know"
"Opened"
"Let Them Know"
"Waves of Glassy Flesh"
"So Much More"
"The Master of the Fiddle"
"Pink Netherworld"
"Her Power"
"Make Me"(*)
"Can't Be Bought: A Love Poem"
"I'm Not Sure Why"
"Your Eyes"
"If They Knew"
"Focus"
"Desperation Face"
"If I Had The Right"
"Afraid"
"Make Me Mad"(*)
"You'll Die"(*)
"My Regards"
"My Regards" is the final poem in a massive three year collection, spanning from my literary birth (February '98) to the end of March '00. After "My Regards" I changed my signiture (irrelevant to all two of my web fans who have never seen any of my original hand written poems or any of my artwork) and I plan on changing...or more appropriately advancing, detailing, and broadening...my themes, particularly the love and relationships theme.
The first three years of my writing I kept in a binder/folder of sorts which I entitled "A Predetermined Course"...naturally after my poem with the same name.
Without too much thought, I also gave that title to this chapter of my poetry. Now it seems fitting considering how much writing poetry has become a staple in my lifestyle. And here in this chapter is where the course was being realized, whether it was predetermined or not.
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