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Vompatti View Drop Down
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: June 03 2008 at 08:30
Prune Variations

Prune prune prune - prune. PRUNE!
prune prune - prune. PRUNE! Prune
prune - prune. PRUNE! Prune prune
prune. PRUNE! Prune prune prune -
PRUNE! Prune prune prune - prune.
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: June 16 2008 at 13:20
A Glimpse of My Local Collection of Mirrors

Our favourite void is the empty kind
sometimes met on sculptors' minds
and met with such an overwhelming respect
above all among those full of life
and too much so to move swiftly

but only those who are mobile by nature
are capable of remaining still
only those who have fingernails for food
and drink ink from the last remaining bottle
are to break the barrier of life and art

your turquoise dress gives me nice vibes
as if we were on an Indian burial ground
weighing Japanese pop music with horses
to see our eyes open both ways now
and what a nice hat you've got also
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: June 23 2008 at 15:35
from now on I can only write like a poor Bukowski imitator

recently I've tried writing poems
about the hidden structure of the universe
which I sometimes see from afar
in dreams
but I lack vision and skill
so they all turn out wrong.
I've tried writing about girls
and imaginary hairdressers that I love
like brand new shoes.
but ever since I lost my inspiration
(and believe me it's been awhile)
there's been no other choice
but to try to write like Bukowski
and fail
at that too.

Edited by Vompatti - June 23 2008 at 15:35
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: June 25 2008 at 08:53
this is not a poem
this is not a statement
this is not a vision
anymore.

this is an organic machine
a flamboyant rock
cast at the feet of those who carry pianos
on their heads
in a Tarkovskyan rainstorm
which is not very wise
(because they might slip).
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: June 28 2008 at 07:27
Today I Saw One of Those Disposable Raincoats...

Hey lady!
Have you noticed -
there's a plastic bag around you?
I said:
"Hey lady! Have you noticed -
there's a plastic bag around you?
She had.
What a stupid person.
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: June 29 2008 at 17:14
All Kinds of Manufactured Tools for Nose-Picking Are for Wussies and Here's Why:

I pick my nose with my fingers.
You can say what you will about vulgarity,
you herald of delicate instruments,
but I couldn't care less about your lobster forks.
For what have we learnt from the best:
always to pick a right tool for the job,
be it a ten pound hammer, a scalpel,
a clarinet, a pneumatic drill or a finger.
Sure, Michelangelo used a brush,
but if reaching the best result
would have required using fingerpaint
he wouldn't have hesitated to do so.
That's what made him big.
And the Zen Buddhist monks who mumble
their incomprehensible yet strangely captivating mantras:
what if they could only achieve enlightenment
through recitation of old sitcom scripts?
Do you think they'd be too embarrassed to follow their path
and give up the whole thing as silly nonsense
or do you think they'd embrace those sitcom scripts
despite the ridicule they might evoke
among those who fail to see them as a device?
I think they'd choose the latter
just as I choose to pick my nose with my fingers.
So stick your lobster forks where they belong
(in your lobsters and then in your mouths)
and let me get on with my picking.
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: July 05 2008 at 17:28
Some people...

Some people wear a brown cardigan when fishing
for attention.
Some people have an urgency to follow fashion
around the town.
Some people are known for their looks
are abnormal.
Some people drink wine from a paper mug
shot.
Some people wear their hearts on their sleeves
and some their livers.
Some people never marry some other people
who never marry either.
Some people consider welded things unnatural
and rightly so.
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: July 06 2008 at 08:59
I Have Something Between My Teeth Again

The most shocking thing to see
is a missing wallet.

Still a little heart-attack
every once in a while
does nothing
but good
for your heirs.
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: July 06 2008 at 16:15
I Can't Think of a More Pretentious Title for This Poem Than "Flow." No, Wait, I Can (This)!

Versatile as I am, fluid, semi-empty, directionless,
easily guided by external stimuli
like race horses, hamburgers and fame,
even I make a bad container
for your intentions.

Holes that are crucial
for all kinds of liquid exchange,
be it material or some kind of "flowing" spiritual stuff
(and the more of the holes, the better)
weaken the walls as they speed the process.

Perfect execution of your processes
would require the maximum number of holes
and there would no longer be any barriers
for the subject to move in
and thus no one to follow your word.

All this is very sad.
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: July 09 2008 at 17:26
How I Finally Decided to Become a Writer

For years I thought about becoming a writer,
mainly because I know I can't get a job
because I don't really want to
and because I can't really do
anything worth paying for.
But it was only some minutes ago
that I realized that I,
just like every remarkable writer in history,
have a relatively distinguished nose.
I can't really fit coins in it -
not even very small ones, only halfway
and that's it.
I can't tell if they could either
(maybe they never even tried),
but it's the outside of the nose that matters,
and they all had a biggish one (outside):
Dante had one,
Shakespeare had one,
Blake had one,
Goethe had one,
Gogol had one (but lost it),
Tolstoy had one,
(Dostoevsky didn't really have one,
but then again, he was an exception,)
Wilde had one,
Kafka had one,
Bukowski had one,
and Rushdie almost has two.
I haven't read any Céline,
but I've heard he had one too.
And even if he didn't,
he should have had.
And that guy who was in that
Cassavetes movie, he has one too.
He isn't a writer,
but he sure looks like one.
So that's how I decided to become a writer
instead of a travelling shoe salesman
(a salesman of travelling shoes).
I haven't really published
anything yet,
but at least my nose
is pointing the right way.

Edited by Vompatti - July 09 2008 at 17:28
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: July 09 2008 at 18:05
Today I Fell in Love (Again)

I went to the kiosk today
to put some money on horses,
and there was this really cute girl at the counter,
you wouldn't believe until you saw her,
I mean I don't usually even look at people
but this one was just amazing:
her eyes were brilliant green and her smile
inspiring
and her voice was like morning dew
on the ragged asphalt of my soul.
So I put some money on horses
and left
and decided to come again tomorrow
even though I'm kind of bored with those horses
that never run as they should.
But still,
a few coins on the wrong horses
is a fair price
for those eyes.

I thought this was going to be -
for a change -
an honest and captivating poem.
I was wrong.

P.S.

I went to the same kiosk today
and there was another girl at the counter
and she was really dull
and even though I put some money
on horses
I don't feel like winning
anything
today.


Edited by Vompatti - July 10 2008 at 09:51
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: July 16 2008 at 16:56
Ferret Gal and I

I should have known by the number of her ferrets
she was bohemian in a very hairy sort of way.
Like a smouldering cauldron on a trippy tripod
was her finesse, a breath of wind from a jar.

Once a child, twice a president of a chess club,
there are boxes for me in surveys, boxes in houses.
Society abandons its greyish twigs like drunkards;
there are not boxes for everyone, not even for boxers
and not for you, my gentle one.

I scratch my arm while thinking of your curves,
covered in hairy white beasts, oh glistering one.
No rose petals on your naked body but ferrets
in my dreams and in reality, with overdubbed scent.

Meet me in moonlight tonight, we'll be bare cores.
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: July 16 2008 at 17:33
I Lack Mirrors

Washed my bones in a bowl of despair
added salt - Alas! no pears left.
Right. Had to trust the pocket watch:
7 - 8 minutes of constant ebullition -
fully mechanical, but have I wound it up?
oh yes, in the midst of my barren youth
my fingers did their little chores.
And the hanging chain turned me into
an eclectic & elegant goth businessman
and that's when I suddenly realized
that I'm not wearing a shirt either, which
might have further strengthened the impression
if my body had not been such a mess.

Where was I?
Surely not in Southern China?
Surely not!

shrimps are
    good
  with white
         wine
            whine
               mine
        dwarf excavation

                         etc.
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: July 16 2008 at 17:43
I Wrote This With My Feet and I Should Probably Go to Sleep Somewhere About Now

'nnhbgghjk,mmjgv**

öl.kijhvc c cfggbh''¨¨¨'
'ölöl
öjhygfgfddc'ä
''¨
kiiujtrdee3ew¨¨u¨'
ppo8itwssw

olkjjurww2wqwwwwweweew'ä''¨ää'
'
pöolooooloiä
*fcddedd

'kjkygtfrdedfg
'  gho¨''¨

' mmmn            hyygtrfrfd¨'

'¨mujiiiiiiiiiiiiii
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: July 17 2008 at 11:26
A Praise of Containers Big and Small (Including People)

All containers, big and small, hear these noble words
that gallop to your presence like numberous horses' herds.
I like the fact that your insides can hold some heavy stuff
like iron, gold and liquids too (like oil), that's surely 'nuff.

However much I like your guts to keep those things inside
I sometimes wonder, how come you just never want to hide
from people eager to fill you right up to the top,
leave you on your own again and on their way then hop.

I guess the answer could be that you're happy to contain
all kinds of stuff and good reviews from container reviewers thus attain.
Containers are we peolple too, not different from you cans,
barrels, jars or boxes, in equel scalar balance.

(Because there's stuff inside of people too, like organs and the like,
and all the things you've swallowed, like hairpins or a mike (a 'microphone').)



EDIT: There's one too many letter in the above poem. Spot it and get a special reward!


Edited by Vompatti - July 17 2008 at 11:29
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: July 23 2008 at 18:15
Books, VII, VIII, and IV

Unread, open, red, closed, consumed
By flickering lights in the year of the unwashed man
Who cultivates only crops and, even then, is largely unsuccessful
Pathetic, leather-bound, white, paper-backed, considered
In thin torchlight by the embryonic human mind,
Grasping no words, but only a series of syllables
He needs a way out

There's no patience anymore in the mind of our abstract reader,
Assume he has a downcast pair of eyes, looking emptily into his own soul
Through this textual medium
Why does he read, and read, and even move onto the notes and bibliography
(all meaningless. The bibliography, like the pages, are blank to this one)
when he takes nothing novel from this age-old-creation?
He has nothing worth noting, no thing, from this series of letters
But still he needs a way in

Empty, exhausted, torn by time, fresh, replete
With a series of vivid and un-contestable ideas,
Not one of them has any worth or originality. Ordinary. All too ordinary.
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: July 28 2008 at 17:23
Just Something I Wrote While Waiting for a (Non-Copyrighted) DVD to be Ripped

Once again,
let's begin
with the flowerpots;
place them on the windowsill - symmetrically -
and let our gaze caress their ceramic faces.
Let them have all of our aesthetic attention,
let them appear to us as a glorious epiphany,
let them guide our vision towards the sun (like the plants in them),
let them distract us from watching old Buffy episodes.
"It's not even late yet",
said the florist to the gardener (her boyfriend)
and discreetly frowned.
"Oh but time passes so quickly", he replied,
"and everything that grows, grown towards the sun.
But the sun is very far away, the night very long,
but not long enough, NEVER long enough!
And what once was a seed is now a plant,
and what once was a plant is now a seed,
and there will be no end for this charade."
(Of course he was talking nonsense, poor man.)
And the sun went down, and the florist went down
(because the gardening scissors suddenly came down upon her head)
and the gardener went down to the garden
and cut the rest of it down.
And the flowerpots came down
and the house went down
and the world came down
and the gardener went down
to sleep with his scissors
and my computer finished ripping the DVD
and I began to focus on Buffy again
and I thought about making this a good poem
but then I decided not to.
(DUCK COMMERCALISM ETC.)
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: July 29 2008 at 14:26
They've Taken Out the Sun, But At Least They Left the Moon

Empty the staircase stares at me like an ancient figure in want of respect
but the cellar door is right in the living room
and I too have forgotten which way to bow.

The master has gone sailing with his boys
but when the gates are distant there's no way to run.

Oh lady at the counter of the kiosk,
oh imaginary hairdresser whom I love,
won't you come into this vagrant dream
and take the part of my love, the witch
whose knowing eyes I dare not meet in the middle of this dense emptiness.

Remember how you guided me in my wanderings,
as if you knew the horses better than I did
(which you probably did, since I hardly knew them at all),
how you graced me with the divine smile of your eyes,
how you gently touched my hand when you took the coins
and placed them in your heart's safe
and then in the cold metallic cash register?

And how I fed you strawberries when you opened your mouth
without asking?
(Needless to say, this was in a dream.)

What happened to our love when it's first flame burned out
in the menacing autumn wind?
Did we manage to delve into one another, build a fireplace
before it withered away?
Yes, we did,
however it wasn't quite soon enough
to preserve the original inspiration
which brought us all the way here.
That's why we now have to skip some lines
(which would probably have been rather dull anyway)
and step right into the end of the poem
(but hopefully not step ON it, especially not with our boots on)
which goes something like this:

I am your battered hand.
I am your rope decorated neck.
I am your leftmost lung, gasping.
I am your frequent inaptitude
sailing
on the muddy waters
of your innate excavations.

the end.
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: July 30 2008 at 12:36
I Spent Three Days Trying to Copy These DVD's And I Was Just About to Give Up

but then I suddenly met this highly attractive girl
and I instantly knew she was meant for me
when she said: "boy, do you look like someone
who's been struggling with DVD's like I have!"
and what else could I have said but: "I sure have!
ever since I began trying to copy these DVD's
my mind's been a bloody madhouse."
and she said: "tell me about it! don't you just hate it
when you try to copy some DVD's
and the first thing you notice
is that the DVD video camera has messed something up
so that when you play the DVD on your laptop
the numbers don't run as they should
and when you try to play it on your PS2
it freezes when the title should change.
so you make a copy and hope the problem goes away
but it doesn't.
so you decide to rip the video from the DVD
to make some video files that you then can burn on a DVD.
so you rip them and notice
that the ripper has converted them to avi files
and the picture quality is even worse than it was.
so you do it again and this time rip them into mpeg-2 files
(that's the format on the original DVD's, right?)
and you're positively surprised because the picture is good
and you think everything's going to work out ok,
just burn the mpeg-2's on a DVD and the job's done.
WRONG!!!
you try one DVD burner that manages to burn all the files
but makes them separate titles so you can't just skip
to the next one with the next chapter button
and there's no menu either so you'd have to watch the whole thing
at once.
so you try a DVD authoring program
which seems fine until you're supposed to burn the disc.
error. doesn't work. doesn't do anything.
so you try another one
and that doesn't make a menu either
but at least you can combine all the mpeg-2 files
so that you get one title and several chapters
but you can't really choose the place of the chapters,
only put chapters every 5 or 10 or 15 etc. minutes
but in addition to these you notice
there's also some random chapters
that appear for no apparent reason.
so you think, whatever, I can live this, at least the DVD runs ok.
WRONG!!!
it seems fine at first, but soon you notice
that the audio gets totally out of sync.
so you think about trying something else
and you download all kinds of software:
DVD burners, DVD authoring tools,
DVD joiners, converters, editors.
nothing works.
then you become desparate and think about giving up,
returning to the time of the VHS,
starting a fierce revolution against everything digital,
taking your life with a stainless steel spoon,
writing a blues song with the lyrics:
woke up this worning and had to copy these DVD's
there's something wrong with the original discs
they don't run on my PS2 and not on any DVD player either
and my woman's mad and the government's insane
and who invented these bloody DVD's anyway?
but instead you just go and buy a Captain Beefheart album
and pretend that there's more to life than things that don't work
things that don't ever work."
and when the red haired attractive girl had said all this
she played with a her red hair and smiled seductively
but I didn't really care about her
because, after all, she was just a dream
and I was all alone in this faulty digital world
with my digital problems.
and I went to buy a Captain Beefheart album (on vinyl)
and to the kiosk to put some money on horses
and there was another girl at the counter
again.



PS. If anyone knows how to burn mpeg-2 files on a DVD so that they make one title with several chapters and the sound stays in sync, please help me.

PPS. This is not just a poem, this is how my life really is.
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: August 12 2008 at 05:34
Can Coffee Do Internal Damage?

Now here's the question we all think about!
And the answer is:
Yes.
I used to be one of those
          who drink two (large) cups
                        in
                               a
                                       row
              like it was water.
Now,
        roughly two months later
                   I can hardly stand
                                one cup.
      From the first sip to the last
                   it's pure revulsion
                                  and physical
                  PAIN.
   Sometimes,
                     at social events,
                                     I must grin like a demon
                                                       to avoid
                            VOMITING.
        I know now:
   just like booze gets to you
               in the end
      so does coffee
                     very soon
                                    very soon
                                                    very soon...
           BUT still:
                       who wants to be the weirdo
                                   who doesn't drink coffee?
 The end
            is at hand
                           the hand
                                         at the handle
                          of the cup.
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