version 1:
the peaches are gone
those conspiring bitches
sluting their summer heat
as if they had wings
and flight was theirs
slating their shat upon
us lowly land luggers;
but peaches have no wings
and when they fall
as they will
and squat the earth again
I'll squish them like worms
or maybe like slattern snails
grinding their seed
for a better brew
because peaches don't fly
and no amount of thinking
gonna make it so
such a shame they
had to fuck the apple
stem and all
version 2:
the peach is gone
that conspiring bitch
sluting her summer heat
as if she had wings
and flight was hers
slating her shat
upon lowly land luggers;
but peaches have no wings
and when she falls
as sure as shit she will
and squat the earth again
I'll squish her like a worm
or maybe like a slattern snail
grinding her seed
for a better brew
because peaches don't fly
and no amount of thinkin'
gonna make it so
such the scarlet shame
she had to fuck the apple
stem and all
++++++
version 3
there never were any peaches
nor any apples
quote:
"I don't want to persuade the reader that it's a real thing; I want to show it as it is. In a sense, I'm telling those readers that it's just a story: it's fake. But when you experience the fake as real, it can be real. It's not easy to explain . . .
I'm not pretending it's the real thing. We are living in a fake world; we are watching fake evening news. We are fighting a fake war. Our government is fake. But we find reality in this fake world. So our stories are the same: we are walking through fake scenes, but ourselves, as we walk through these scenes, are real. The situation is real, in the sense that it's a commitment; it's a true relationship. That's what I want to write about."
- Haruki Murakami
8 comments:
Peaches are arrogant with their fine fuzz and blushing colors.
Still, I do like the sweet nectar on my tongue.
Oh, yes, they are not entirely without value or charm. But they are arrogant.
LMAO! I won't argue your point. :-D
Version one is my favorite. So much to love. Peaches as conspiring bitches. Fucken peaches. Wingless, squat, slatternly sluts. Always fucken with the apples.
And the telling as real. If it makes you feel, it is real. I felt a lot for thirteen years and yet there are so many dimensions of that time that weren't real, however, I remember the feeling so it must have been.
There is more to real than reality. There is mostly belief. That must be its foundation, don't you think?
Fun!
xo
erin
Erin, you should see me in the fruit section of the market. Let's just say I don't wear baggy pants. :-D
Love, love, love the poems, shall get to those in a minute, but firstly The situation is real, in the sense that it's a commitment; it's a true relationship. and how it relates to the DT experience, yes, let's name it so for this is what it is, not merely a blog, not merely writing or listening or reading or art or storytelling or communication, but a one-of-a-kind, fully blown, the kind we yearn for most of all, the kind we appreciate above all, the deepest of touches and the greatest of inspirations, that kind of experience, for, and I realize I am just taking a portion of this quote to run with for the moment, in the most wonderfully simplistic terms it epitomizes your writing. I've often felt rather ridiculous in my inadequate attempts to describe what happens when one reads your posts, of just how far one seems to be plunged into the scene you are describing or the emotion or thought that you are sharing, which is why I so often end up describing in detail a physical reaction or a train of thought that has been inspired thereby for the realness of it, for the comparison between what one might feel or see in the real world to only then have the same intensity of emotion induced by a poem or a conversation between fictional characters and so forth. To think about it in those terms is to realize on yet another level the capabilities that you have as a writer, as a poet, as an artist and though it must be a somewhat comical thought, it is to me at times, I honestly the moment I move, and most of the time I am already there, anywhere near your great radius of influence find myself in a constant state of awe. How we do, and have through the ages, admire the artistry, the ability to create beauty from within upon the 'canvas' of choice, particular talents within a particular artist that makes his or her work something extraordinary, to cite the example yet again for it works so well in communicating between you and I precisely what I mean of The Road's "entire", where a single phrase, a single poem, a single scene, a single lyric is the source of such eternal delight to then be able to say to you, with every post it is there, and the reason why it provokes such heartfelt and repetitive responses is that it isn't that you have a particular talent for symmetry in your work, or a particular talent for metaphor, it isn't that you painted a smile that will forever be a source of intrigue or that the light is extraordinary, it isn't honesty or the deep response that you evoke, it isn't that you inspire thought or that your use of language is particularly witty or innovative, but instead that regardless of what appears on these pages, in the written word or via your fractals, there is an entire within, or to put it in a shorter way, where we admire and speak of greatness for those who possess but a single talent in a manner of speaking, I have seen no limit yet to your multifaceted ability for creation. Typed out as it occured that was just one train of thought inspired by this post. tbc
Thank you Autumn. Your comments have always been special to me. Perhaps one day, as I've said so often, I can see with your eyes what you see here. Even in much better times, I didn't have those eyes. I envy you that.
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