a photograph of a storm cloud, stained sepia with coffee grounds, hovers over the head of Hoarse the cartoon duck who gives me a reassuring smile, as if to let me know how wonderful it is that our lives are tragically spinning out of control, and to demonstrate this supposition Hoarse the cartoon duck sets my collection of unicorn t-shirts aflame with all the gleeful exuberance of a ninety seven year old, heroin addicted tripple amputee, with downs syndrome.
raindrops pelt Hoarse the cartoon ducks furrowed brow like thousands of miniature atom bombs, while informing me that my sweater has the same odor dank odor as that of a dutch marathon runners beard, whilst we partake in viewing the major motion picture presentation, loosely adapted from the novel and edited for television remake of our former classmates cadavers being bulldozed in pits of blazing dogshit by glue sniffing residents of Pispania.
Hoarse the cartoon duck and I sit elbow deep in chunky orange dishwater, eating whatever fisher price to that happens to float by, enjoying a serenade from a flamenco band made up entirely of juicy leeches and rotten meat, whose sweet island sounds reminded us of how we should have paid better attention when the giant boxing bottle of bourbon handed us spiritual literature with a begloved hand, encouraging Hoarse the carton duck and I to join the monster squad.
poor Hoarse the cartoon duck is so pathetically adorable as his shaky hands struggle feebly to remove the bolts in my neck that been implanted light years ago by overzealous overweight community college club advisors, and screaming horsefaced villagers who recognized me as the guy in italy that simultaneously cartwheeled, and urinated, through their miniature golf tournament and pancake breakfast.
Hoarse the cartoon duck began to cry, as did I, as did my current hairstyle, as did a plate of waffles, as did the oppressive cold as it clutched our shoulders like a pair of pterodactyls with hard-ons, and pterodactyls cried too, as did their hard-ons, all in loss and apparent deflation of our friend whonderwheel, who assured us before his demise that we would raise from our soggy graves tomorrow morning well rested and ready to play all over again, ad infinitum, till after the end of time.
edited april 2007
10 Apr 03
Rated 8.3 (8) by 18 users.
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incredible. smells like a number 10,034.
LOL! I don't know when I last read a poem that made me laugh. I hope that is what you intended, but either way, it is what happened. :)
wow...that's a fertile mind unleashed!! Interesting read.......
What a picture has been painted!Much applause!
"all the gleeful exuberance of a ninety seven year old, crippled,
heroin addict, with downs syndrome."
that line is amazing.
great poem in general.
i love that it doesn't become just Hoarse. it's always Hoarce the cartoon duck.
Wow... I feel like I've been taken on a guided tour through a Salvidor Dali masterpiece. Bravo.
Thank you very much for your compliments!
just incredible. especially the first stanza. good job.
Never has such a touching image been wrought as the crying hard-ons of a pair of pterodactyls.
Pispania reeks of Burroughs or Ginsberg to me. A lot of this reeks of Burroughs, like those hard-ons and the major motion picture adaptation and the continuations of "Hoarse the cartoon duck" (which, by the by, you misplaced a "Horse" in at the end of line three). But then, some of it doesn't sound like Burroughs, and I might say those bits were more Hunter S. Thompson if I'd read any of him, but since I haven't, I'll say they sound like the way a neon orange crayon would sound if it could write by itself (how fitting the dishwater is orange, too).
The ending disappoints me a bit; there's no flair to it, really, and just seems some humdrum moral attached. It might be better left with Wonderwheel's dying words.
"Hoarce" has been fixed. Ending deleted. After re-reading it I wasn't very pleased with the ending either, it was humdrumity humbug. Your comments were greatly appreciated, thank you.
"...my sweater smells like a Dutch, marathon runners beard..." Brilliant, brilliant stuff. I believe i would love a night out with you and the good Hoarse. He is a peculiar sort, no? Good to see that I'm not the only member of the Monster Squad in here too. Great poem. Great imagery. Wicked, wicked sense of humour.
Monster Squad was one of my favorite movies as a child, right up there with Little Monsters and The Goonies. I even made a little Monster Squad card for myself. I still smile when I hear or think the line, "Wolfman has 'nards.' " We should all take heed to the giant bottle of bourbon wearing boxing gloves when he hands us spiritual literature.
ps: CAN pterodactyls get hard-ons?
Deeply layered in insanity and sadness. very nice.
actually, rather boring and smacking of Tom Robbins' fare.
you should get some pictures to go with the poems and the other stuff
i have a picture of hoarce i drew...would you like to see it?
I want to see a picture of Hoarse. Are you interviewing groupies/stalkers?
how do you come up with such creatively written pieces? it's amazing how you play with words. i admire you.
Just wicked, love it. The flow of it is perfect. Nice job.
priceless shit, mon. i love it yet as poetry it kinda sucks. not my cup of tea, but funny and compelling and memorable. can't make my mind up.
This poem is a like good whore.
sounds like youe were on acid
popped up in Recently Commented this afternoon so i read it again. cracked me up again. 'specially the last stanza which is priceless what with hairstyles and hard-ons tearing up and such as we all know they are wont to do at times like these that try the waffles of mean hearts and slip a mickey into a pendleton shirt wearing calvin klein whore's bankrupt piggy bank of warts.
dwarves, i say, dwarves!
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I'm sorry, Onk.
I can't comment on this right now.
Every time I read it, it brings me to tears.
I love this piece, and I shall return in a few days, when it's not so hard to read it.
- The line "he gives me a reassuring smile letting me know how wonderful it is that our lives are spinning tragically out of control" was like the thesis for the piece.
everything was based around that.
The sepia colored reminds me of an old film- like a memory lost, but also of the artifical quality of cameras and photo-altering these days, to make things appear like they are older. in a sense, it speaks out about the falsity of things and the coffee ground tainted seems to be speaking about capitalism and trends, since coffee is a core symbol for both systems.
The fact that it is a "photograph" of a storm cloud supports the interpretation of falsity and things not really being what they seem
Hoarse the cartoon duck is the epitomy of this sytem- and likewise also a victim of the system. Hoarse is "Hoarse" only for one reason. he must certainly be the accumulation of all the people in the world crying out against falsity and seflishness. the fact that he is a "cartoon" rather than a real duck shows a sense of the falsity, but also the naivety of society and culture- we are treated as children, only being shown certain propaganda as fits the government, et cetera. also, the fact that we only get the head of Hoarse supports this idea of everything collapsing- and yet we think it is stable- because we are being deluded.
The act of "selling" in the first stanza supports my critique of the capitalist system reading.. and the unicorn t-shirts argues against the "trend" issue again. the whole idea of little girls going crazy over little shirts with pretty mythical creatures; however, the unicorn is also an important creature. the unicorn supports a a mythical and very rare beast- one which our imaginations can only create, but in actuality does not exist- or so we believe because we have given up in believing in "magic".
this magic also no longer exists in the cartoon world, or the world of the children. the magic seems to be gone from our world, once the delusions are ripped away- for they are illusory only. The fact that the t-shirts are set on fire shows this collapse. the irony of the 97 year old having "gleeful exuberence" is interesting, and can be interpreted a few ways.
for one thing our society's general age rate has been upped a lot and as a result we would see it as a possible result of our selfishness but also of the productivity of capitalism; however we must remember that it is the 97 year old who is burning things- so rather than end up praising the capitalist system, instead it knocks it down a bunch. The addition of "crippled, heroin addict, with down's syndrome" shows more of the results of the capitalist system - ie: the poor and impoverished of society
- The rain-drops and miniature atom bombs speak more about the capitalist system (namely the American one) but also about the arms race and competition. the poem is saying "Slow down.. What ever happened to harmony and enjoyment of life?" it clearly opposes the arms race as well.
The Dutch marathon runner's beard is 1) something foreign and 2) something thought to be rather abject or gross. the result of this leaves us a little disgusted (the whole theory of abject imagery has that purpose, really. people like Plath and Eliot utilize this heavily in their poetry). This results in the typical reaction of being disgusted by foreign things...
the motion picture in the second stanza is more evidence of "falseness". Hollywood is especially a false thing.. and the very invention/notion of the videocamera.. it's all about the production of "false-things".
Hollywood dumbs things down quite often, so that seems to be an argument for the deconstruction theme prevalent in the piece. the fact that it is an "adaption" only furthers this. An adaption is a "fake copy" of a "fake". So we're not only viewing fakes, but fakes of fakes now... and it seems to be a vicious, and endless cycle. The cadavers of former classmates being bulldozed displays two very clear and important messages. the first one is in regards to my earlier explanation of movies being fakes. This is because the media leaps at (and so does the human mind) violence. people always go for violence & sex, they are the dual, base human things that makes us animals... and no matter how we try to pretend we are better than animals, we're all just hoarse-throated ducks who can't scream any more so we shut-up and eat what is fed us by the media and the government.
The second point is that the bull-dozer clearly represents the destruction of things (fitting in with the destruction theme again) especially the destruction of humanity. the mechanized killing of humans reminds me of Hitler and the Holocaust.
The distinction of them as bodies of "cadavers" rather than individual human beings vs. the "I" who is a personal identity is quite important for juxtaposition's sake.
again, there's a drug reference, which supports the poverty system, and the argument that are governments are supposed to help us, but are really predatory governments in the end.
- Stanza 3 begins with the beginning of the end. the decomposition of everything into "chunky, orange, dishwater". the fact that it is coloured means it's not even clear. this represents the lies and the and everything the system has fed us- we can't even see straight or clearly through anything anymore. And the "I", with "Hoarse" as his only companion are naive nonetheless, though they are right in the middle of all this decomposition- they sit there like children eating toys.
The leeches and rotten meat are more decomposing things- before they are completely decompsed, they try to cry out to the only people remaining (hoarse who embodies all humans and the "I" figure who represents individuality) that they "should have paid better attention". The thing that they should have paid better attention to was the "spiritual literature" they were handed... this spiritual literature surely is telling the reader that they need to look to themselves, they need to break the delusions forced upon them..
despite the bourbon bottle's boxing gloves (an image of power) they didn't pay proper attention- and so everything falls into moral decay as a result.
he irony of the thing handing them spiritual literature being a giant bottle of bourbon is that it seems extremely commercialized, because it shows that truth is often a "diamond in the rough", hidden in with all the actual commercialism.
- is where you begin to get me in tears, i'm afraid, and interpretation becomes harder because it's so truly beautiful. but i will struggle to hold them back.
Hoarse is shown as an extremely sympathy and empathy-worthy figure here. before he was abused and beaten around a lot- the victim of many crimes- but here we truly begin to get a feel for his character. It's true irony that a cartoon duck is "pathetically adorable", he is shaky - and it seems likely that this is a result of his accustomed nature to being victimized and bullied by others.' (ie: the system)
The bolts implanted in the "I" figure's neck shows the attempt to stifle originality/creativity/individuality. the "community college club advisors" are the system "hard at work" (hah!)...
but Hoarse wants to help his only companion- there is some trace of hope as long as Hoarse has the strenght to remove those bolts.. but it is truly a tearful manner..
because he's adorably shaky.. because he is too weak to remove the bolts implanted in the "I" figure's neck.. because the system has corrupted everything.. because everything good is falling to pieces around them- crashing...and they are being crushed. horribly, and utterly crushed.. and they can't do anything. they are in the palms of this "overzealous" system.
all because of a stupid prank like urinating on the miniature golf tournament at that. The system is cruel, harsh and unforgiving. trying to keep everyone in line.
- And then everything breaks down to tears. Hoarse cries, (and all of humanity cries with him), and the individuality "I" weeps, and even the hair-style which is shows the individuality decomposing as well.. And the waffles, and even sensations which are decomposing (like "the cold") is crying..and the everything is crying or deflating ... but the Wonderwheel (before his demise) does assure us that "we would all raise from our soggy graves tomorrow morning"
Which shows a note of hope- a rebirth.. but it is so hard to believe...it's just so hard to take the rebirth concept- because you just know WHY hoarse is hoarse at the end- because he goes through this endless cycle of crying. It's like the antithesis of buddhism. where every day you will be reborn into horrible conditions- never ascending or transcending.
A truly beautiful poem Onkl. This is superb and outstanding work.
Hey, onk. Is that what you were thinking?
I had a completely different take on it. I thought it was a repudiation of the COMMUNIST system of government, and its excesses.
Inuki set me straight, though.
Party on, dude!!
Well I have read this what ever it is, and come to the conclusion it is like looking a piece of dogshit through a microscope, that one sees more on examination, than the apparent obnoxious nature of the object, albeit interesting as a colourful subject.
Well the north Atlantic cuttlefish provide an excellent sepia dye, coffee ground tainted photograph, well coffee ground has a delightful aroma, the immediate problem to my mind is that being dry of course it does not stain. so a peculiar photograph indeed.
Hoarse setting fire to your collection of unicorn shirts, well they are popular, if of relatively small value.
Though Hoarse’s exuberance is harder to define, that exuberance having downs syndrome the fact it has lived beyond the average twenty five to thirty year life expectancy of those poor unfortunate sufferers, has obviously created medical history.
So as I say, there is no point in proceeding further, it is purely a poetic pile of dogshit, poorly written and of great delight to bi-polars and similarly afflicted.
Morchuis, you sweet talker...
I think I prefer inuki's analysis to the "dogshit" argument--but I agree with unknown--this is about the evils of communism and is a strong pro-Bush poem.
In all seriousness, this is a very complex painting, and I am still admiring it.
Nobody but onk could write this--nobody.
Of course I love it!!
Limitless! It's too profound to be called beautiful!
was doing well until the last verses
i really like this.
even before it made any sense to me[thank you inuki.]
the imagery is wonderfully articulated and very vivid. even if one were to ignore symbolism and deeper meaning, it is still a very cool piece. and with those deeper meanings, and even cooler piece.
keep this up, it's brilliant. you not only have something to say and have something important to say, but you say it so amazingly.
sounds like a really well put together Mad Lib
thank you onklcrispy for this wonderful poem, and thank you inuki for explaining it!! (9)
it starts off very nicely but loses the initial "fresh" edge. i think its a few paragraphs too long.
its rhe worst poem i have ever read
i hate it
who ever wrote this should be thrown in jail
been there, done that.
you did a wonderful job.
how great to stumble upon this~ it's full of all the virtuouso wit and seething critique of the best surrealist stuff-- but primed for the turn of this century when beauty is made up of melodrama, adverbs, trash, lightheartedness, language and funk. i loved it.
Very interesting. Funny. Nonsense but in an alluring way.
you've said a mouthful,
and now im deaf
oh my god thats so funny
good job im never gonna forget this
I love the image of Hoarse being pathetically adorable and trying to remove bolts.
without gettin' tooooooo
involved, i'm guessin' this
ain't no grandiose statement of
philosophical proportion, as earlier
i thinkin' major binge-
prayin' to th'porcelain god.
could it possibly be that simple?
I knew this had to be you before I got through the first stanza. That's supposed to be a complement.
Beautiful wonderful very inspiring and fucking insane obviously which is what makes it beautiful and wonderful.
Oh my god. My brain hurts, but in a good way. Does that make any sense? I loved it! 10.
You need apostrophes so badly it hurts. If you used them, I'd log on and give this a ten, because it's oddly spectacular.
To anyone who can't appreciate this...
Wow, alot of amazing imagery here. Good work!
This is so poorly written but it's so funny that who cares? Pass the drugs around, how about?
how is it poorly written? @[email protected] the style fits the content and theme perfectly.
Just because it fits does not mean the writing itself is good. By that standard, every single poem here would be a 10 and perfect.
Hey, Ok knows I appreciate his unique style. Besides, I gave it an 8, no one can complain about that!
why does isabelle mix us up. i love you onk.
Oh, I did! Sorry! (slow down, woman.)
;__; why'd you chaaaange iiiiit.
Is it 4:20 yet? LMAO! This is quite possibly the most "different" kind of poetry I've ever ingested on P.C. I love it just for it's uniqueness and playfulness alone! It's like Dr. Suess on acid.
I hate it when people reduce artworks to products of drug, as if absurdity doesn't exist outside of intoxcation. :<:< It's rude to assume.
This poem still rocks and it's 5:31 now. :-)
Too verbose and not prosy enough at all. Different, but not in a good way. 5/10
It reads like a crazy fellows notebook, pterodactyl with a stiffy, geez, grow up. This type of poem is way too long. It could be several poems, I know you'll say, "fuck you", at least to yourself, but it really is not very good. Forget the coarse language, it is exciting to an adolescence, maybe, but it will not be a lasting poem.
- perfect white noise
- My Summer, My Sun
- poetic burn out
- phone feelings
- empty soles that tread the steps to day
- Your body, I am.
- Casualty of love
- A Mothers Love
- my cycle.
- Childish Innocence and Blimps
- As I Was Passing
- Mr. Kaboomington
- umbrellas responding to Rain
- Burn Down Summer
- Barefoot Boy
- my cycle.
- Most dumped boyfriend (found poem)
- perfect white noise
- slowdancing around my existential meltdown
- My Life.
- things we do when we are empty
- poetic burn out
- Burn Down Summer
- the psalms of wasps and other stinging insects
- Stones crush beatles
- When Love Dies
- caught threads
- lightness traveling, come undone
- 1. The Sunflower Girl
- 2. An Honorable Man
- 3. Existentialist In God's Garden
- 4. And I Have Loved Thee, Oh Shun
- 5. saturdays and sundays at 6am
- 6. \\ Now The Cat's Got No Whiskers \\
- 7. //for ivan//
- 8. hank and i press our hands
- 9. This Is Your Last Chance
- 10. the impoetic man
- 11. wittgenstein's art ( a story in verse )
- 12. mark'd
- 13. Childish Innocence and Blimps
- 14. You Kissed Like a Prostitute
- 15. Squinting In The Dark