So, me.
I guess I will use this as a means of writing and possibly communicating that writing with other interested persons.
A little background on me: I write a lot. I do things that typical writers do, find means of inspiration like some writers still do, and beer is always a'plenty. The best poetry is often done while intoxicated somehow, though I cannot fully explain why that is.
If I were to blog about my life, things would get clogged up here pretty quick with self-pity, self-indulgence, arrogance, and miserable platitudes that will rhyme and go nowhere. I will do my best to express my utmost contempt now for all matters regarding the durability and sanctity of love in these here modern times without ever explicitly condoning such unabashed displays of sentiment.
I will say this-- something is wrong with both male/females my age. If something isn't done soon, poor classmates are going to wash away in the anti-intellectual dribble that is "rap culture." I saw this picture of some girls headed to a football game, holding signs-- it looked like a protest. Looked like those 1960's Civil Rights protests... or Vietnam protests... except the signs said "Hotties" (a sorority function) and this is what passes for culture and excitement these days on a college campus. Drunk girls with nice legs, vapid and beautiful. This is happening on an intellectual's campus, too!
The problem is anti-intellectualism. The driving force here, how I see it, is rap.
I don't hate rap because it leads to dirty dance and sex; oh no no I rejoice in this. I cannot tire of dancing recklessly with attractive women, hammered to the point of no return, and trying to get away with murder later on... I will generally NOT succeed, but lo! I love the dancing.
I hate rap because people listen to it when they AREN'T dancing, which is really fucking annoying. Alright, dancing or getting high. But rap has created certain common expressions that come from a particular culture's particular dialect. These words are stamped "acceptable" for use in common public, and when other phrases, which do not conform to the aforementioned, are employed, they are reviled. Bro replaces friend. Less direct inference of friendship, safer. I hung around a lot of football players last year, most of whom are good people we can all learn a lot from (heh). Still, there is a pervading atmosphere of conformity that exists for two reasons I can gather: mild insecurities (they'd get touchy about that) and the desire to get pussy (which no one would ever deny). When I say "mild" insecurities, I of course mean that if you know the proper time to say a girl looked hot, and not that she looked beautiful, you're moving step-for-step with everyone else.
Girls, of course, eat this up. My college is pretty fucked up. The parties are sectional, you rarely get a good mix of different types of people in one place. The girls like it when guys compete with one another, the act itself is biological. They watch the men compete and retire with the stronger meathead. Why are meatheads so beloved? I knew a meathead in school, dumb as shit, everyone loved him. He looked like a baby troll. His eyes were kinda funny lookin. These girls are amusing, the bros are... bros.
Anyway, don't trust women. And don't listen to rap. Support your local meatheads.
Here is a poem I wrote, which has nothing to do with this rant. This poem is my attempt at being restrictive, condensed.
A Track House at 2 AM
God saved a small band of wanderers
shivering underneath thin umbrellas.
One keeled over coughing, his finger aimed south.
Of all nearby houses, God chose the dirtiest
with one room and broken glass.
With one room, the house was theirs.
The men set their bottles aside
as one wife went mentioned,
maybe she is taken care of now.
A radiator will warm their socks,
someone will feed the stray cats and kick, yelling,
“Cats! Hauh! hauh! huauh!”
The mangy cat doesn’t mind his bruises.
God made the small bond of warriors
as crippled and poor as man only promised.
A schedule stands between the people
and the tracks here at 2 AM.
