Blogging Volumes

Here's a poem. It can be read on its own or as a companion piece to ' The Martial Artist ', which is also on this website. Both are best read aloud. A Living Villanelle Existence mustn't echo, nor the self Reprise repeatedly his breakout role. Rage, rage against a life in villanelle. Define 'alive' as the inverse of 'still'; Know life is movement, either young or old. Existence mustn't echo, nor the self: Our consciousness should be a constant swirl, New information churning up the pool. Rage, rage against a life in villanelle. When proven wrong, adjust your world. Rebuild. Adaptable hypocrisy's the goal; Existence mustn't echo, nor the self. Twain's history's in rhyme; that sounds like hell. Enslavement to prosodics, sans a soul! Rage, rage against a life in villanelle. I disagree with every line above. Promoting hypocrites is not my style - At least, not any more. The lives we love We should return to on repeat. So while This poem&#

We’ve all met them at some point. That horde of interchangeable young women with acoustic guitars, who try to steal your attention in a crowded bar by taking turns at a microphone. I’m guessing you’ve never listened to one for longer than five seconds. If you have, I congratulate you: their music is always about some dead parent or lost lover, and thus far too upsetting for one to listen to while maintaining a good mood. They’re the men on the street who make dogs out of sand all day and ask for your money. They’re the cartoonists who always draw your chin to an insulting size and expect financial compensation for their obvious lack of natural tact. They’re those overgrown children you meet at parties, with ruffled hair and only one pair of jeans, who tell you in earnest that they’re ‘working on a novel’, even though it’s obvious they haven’t yet reached page 3. They’re artists. How do we even have so many in the country? You’d think that most would give up after their second art insta