Re:re: Email sent to small press publisher

by slog

Posted to Poetry and Politics on 2003-12-10 16:22:00

This is Josh again or before. Take your pick. Time happens all the time. Do you do prose also?* I will working on a story about a guy who nails himself to a tree and brings himself back to life 3 days later while the remaining members of the Grateful Dead play. Tickets to the event cost $49.50. Somehow it also involves a girl that’s ‘meta-tall’. What isn’t meta-? If it isn’t meta it must be para-

Those are your choices and if I was a girl I would rather be meta-tall vs. being para-tall. Para-tall sounds too much like your some kind of machine.

You may be asking yourself why did I send this in the care of myself, quite simple-Watson. You see I wanted to make sure I exist. I have to stop thinking unless I never fall asleep and I don’t want to wake up to non-existence. I’m sure you understand.


Very Well,


Poems are below–I’m sure they are unpublished because I just wrote them and the only way they could be published is in some other time-space dealy thingy, because I might be as famous as Gary Coleman in an other world.


4 Anti-Meta Pomes


Errant Philosophy on Meta-Tallness


I have apathy.
You are pretty and fair,
Yet I am afraid that I cannot care.
It’s not that I’m Stoic,
No that’s not the case;
But rather,
A sophist; Full of Disgrace.

You are sweet, and you are smart.
But if I was to kiss you;
I would break your heart.

No, it’s not that I’m not a Romantic,
I say with great haste;
Instead an existentialist,
Unable to feel hate.

What is the paradox true?

You can’t have the one without having the two.


Brookings Dec 03



Morgen

In the morning I eat eggs,
Then clean the house,
The wind is cold and hard,
But the sun’s golden rays;
Melt the ice from the windows,
So my plant’s leaves on the windows—
Won’t sag.

I’m all finished up!! Half a bottle of ammonia is gone!
But an awfully smell remains—
Ah! I have the solution grab a stick of incense from the bag!

It could be worse—believe or not,
At least I don’t have to share my house
With a mouse.


Brookings Dec 03


Sonnet of a Sort of a Some Thing delved into two parts with parity


Eye contact, by the second day my eyes stopped wondering so much;
I could look you in your eyes—I should have bought your coffee—but broke
For a few more days, that’s okay money doesn’t seem to matter much to you.
Oh I don’t think you how enthralled I am with you: mesmerized—know that word?

Of course you free write every morning, take photographs, talk very expressive,
(listening to me babble about semiotics meta-reality) you make me laugh—very tall.
Very good at what you do; I don’t spend much time hitting on freshmen till I met you.
We start the discourse at 2 p.m. talk till five, decided to talk again.

You walk down the hall; do I scare you—it’s not that you’re not my type—
You just don’t happen to scare me and that sensation is rather new.
You being very tall and expressive kinetic face, me talking very surreal pretending to be Jesus! And coming back in 3 days!

(for a fee, I did overdose on X one time could it much harder, I turned blue but woke up felt fine did the whole routine the next day after doing some overtime.)*

No, I do not mean to offend—interpersonal queen, that never was my gig—I just like imaginary philosophies and not having an image compared to James Dean.

*this is to be read before or after the sonnet, as it is not part of the sonnet, but a footnote placed in between the lines of the sonnet.


Para-Meta- Prose Poem Comment Without Abstract Title


I don’t ask myself if I want to be Whitman Emerson John Barth or Umberto Eco.
I just feel like eating dairy products. That last line has nothing to do with this. I just want to say what I want to say. I think that’s okay, but it seems at times I’m have the conviction that what I say isn’t likely to be understood the way I want to be so I get all mixed up in things like Pierce and dyadic structure as part as the triadic whole which virtually any statement can be misunderstood.

Index Representation Symbol Interpretant?

Is this poem even written by me? Or is it a character I have created? Or did that character create me? I get carried away by the fact that communication is confusing and literature of exhaustion must mean you have nothing to say.

Unless, you challenge the form and convention. (Did you write this poem? Maybe you were thinking it and it came to me in a dream via ‘extra sensory perception.’)

But if the process ends up revolving about challenging the old forms isn’t it making a mockery of what hasn’t been born?

Empirical thought likes to say “If we have seen it in the past, it’s bound once again to come away.”

Rationalists promote “everything is logical sense.”

And an Existentialist is just well “an existentialist.”

And John Barth critiques the whole post-modern process yet is a hero of it!!!

That’s just getting back to saying I like to say what I like to say! And if I had to be one I’d Emerson or Whitman before John Barth or Umberto Eco any day!!!








*not in a sexual way of course.



From:
Reply-To: star@poeticinhalation.com
To: “j moore”
CC: andrewlundwall@webtv.net
Subject: Re: re:poetic inhalation feature poem submission
Date: Wed, 10 Dec 2003 15:01:24 -0500

hello josh 🙂

who cares about the atlantic review when you can be published in poetic inhalation 🙂

thank you for sending along these poems…we’ve scheduled you into the feature poem line up for 1/26 🙂

if you’re interested in sending along 4-6 unpublished pieces for publication consideration in tin lustre mobile please feel welcome to send them to andrew 🙂

cheers…
star and andrew 🙂
>
> From: “j moore”
> Date: 2003/12/09 Tue PM 05:21:32 EST
> To: andrewandstar@poeticinhalation.com
> Subject: re:poetic inhalation feature poem submission
>
> Josh Moore is a lonely soothsayer poet who’d tell you he’s never been in
> love–but looking at his collections-despite the frequent jadings-love seems
> to be the theme. He has been featured in lots of low-exposure e-mags and
> such. Does it really matter which one? He hasn’t made to Poetry or the
> Atlantic Review and those are the ones that seem to matter.
>
>
> 1. Tiger spirits mind eyes on the Train
>
>
> wrapped up in floor tiles
> i wait for you to lay me
> down so i can see up your gown
>
> after a long hot shower
>
> i want to feel the hot water
> drip off your legs
> and fall on me
>
> with my pattern constant and deviant
>
> conforming yet screaming
>
> the steam in the room,
> the towel rubbing against your body
> i long to be it
>
> as i hum
> a walking bass line
>
> look into the mirror which is me
> i hope you drop the towel
>
> and stand completely naked in front of me
>
> this long has been an exercise
> wanting to be an inanimate object
> that your body touches or caresses
> i don’t want to living among you
> that would be too painful
> i want to be the things you need
>
> but with really no abstract imagination
>
>
> 2. Dancing with Spirits Better Left Dead and Unwanted but not in pain
>
> flashes from
> a hidden camera
> that blind me
> with swollen tissue
> aching from
> my own
> missed conception
> that fell
> from between
> my trembling thighs
> to burst
> on the cement
> of your love
> rupturing me
> while tears
> followed
> in single file
> my heart stunned
> from the flood
> that slapped
> my jaw
> with hairline cracks
> racing up into
> my words
> as they failed
> to have meaning
> or understanding
> consciousness
> slowly fading
> in and out
> of the visions
> i lived
> waiting
> for time
> to heal the wounds
> that open and
> speak of the past
> when i see you
> walking
> right there
> staring back
> at me
>
>
>
> as we pass
> one another
> without
> anything
> to say…