The night before Chris...
No no, if I did it like that then everything would have to rhyme with a certain meter and feeling. And it would be forever dated to a small period of time.
Fuck it. Just write it.
It's so tough though, to take everything I feel and dash it into words. Smiting the hundred, thousands, and millions of possible words I could say and putting all my thought and heart and soul into a single set.
It was the day before Christmas and I'd gone crazy. Not from the season, the stores, or the preparation. My only seasonal buying was an anonymous gift on the internet to a person I'd never met and what I got in return was a plain blanket. All I'd asked for. The stores were a storm to be weathered for the essentials I needed. And festive decorations were the bright lights outside my door on other houses.
I was alone and it felt fine.
So many years of my life had been spent as a nursemaid for one parent then the other. They
Composition C by Piet Mondrian
The best way to describe the modernist movement is through the piece of visual art above. Piet Mondrian was, in fact, a modernist painter. The general idea of his work was stripping down art to its simplest, most basic form: primary colours, clean lines, straightforward composition.
The same concept applies to modernist literature.
The general period for Modernism is considered to be from the late 19th century to 1965. It arose as a negative reaction to the strictness of Victorian society. There was a general sense of disillusionment among artists in particular, and they felt alienated from their rapidly shifting society. Modernism also contrasted with Romanticism as interest in the natural world dwindled.
Modernism gained momentum when the Lost Generation came of age. This generation, having grown up during World Wa
Fear is realizing you have no place to hide and no escape root should They come for you.
And They will.
How can They not? They are in your phones, in your computers, on your streets, and in your banks, hospitals, and airports. They can access your emails and watch you on Twitter, Facebook, and YouTube. They have voice recognition and face recognition and soon fingerprint recognition and you are no longer a human being with rights to privacy and protection from your own government, but a case file and a collection of data and when they’ve had enough of you, they will come for you.
And you have no place to go or to hide, no quiet spaces. In the cafes, they watch you from other people’s phones and computers. In the parks, they find you with their street cams and drones. And in your house, in your house you are most vulnerable, because that is where you feel safe and so you relax, but
The moment I was put to Death
I watched my world unfold;
And took it in one failing breath
Amid the sinking cold.
I saw the waters part for me,
The prison walls come down;
And held my head up gallantly
Prepared myself to drown.
The war drum beat in unison
With my instable heart,
While I marveled at the passion of
Its long-forgotten art.
Then quick, the noose, with bitter force
Was tightened round my neck,
til blood began to change its course
and surge along the wreck.
I felt the world dissipate
In a white, magnesium flash,
And blind, began to levitate
Into the bidding Past.
And felt the warmth of gentle seas
Lull still the vessel tossed.
Now silent in the reverie
Of new beginnings lost
Then soaring high above, I left
My shell that winter morn.
The moment I was put to Death
Was the moment I was born.
A Sonnet against Sonnets
I do not care for sonnets very much;
Poetic form that makes me