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Scopophilia *Mature Themes* (1 Viewer)

kbsmith

Senior Member
Pointless letters
Time and time again
I waste my time on them
Making better

Hapless fodder
From the wagon fell
Into a place like hell
Shrieking harder



A myriad of people look eyes over words reading meaning
Fondling and groping in pleasure of consensual erotic exchange
Eyes like kisses upon the screen: a sexual sweat of thoughts panting forth
A solipsist and a haggler, a psychosis and vernacular
A master of a beautiful disaster, and for what? But to be
Something more than is meant for you or me
To live is to be never truly free
Bound to constraints of
Human psuedopathy


Inside this mortal coil is a bubbling acid of ideas that beg for release
And every time you click on me: you let these words become free
Every time you read these words a little of you becomes me
So tic by tic by tock of the clock, I am multiplied, extended, becoming the lot
And my darkness now is yours
My mind laid bare upon your pores
My heart is broken forth
From its cage every day
Acid eating beating on
Inside its new silver home



Because people
Are unhappy being
Happy with themselves
Let their words live on
 

jenthepen

Staff member
Mentor
I like the message in your poem, kb. Expressing ourselves through our words is a kind of freedom and it does allow us to become 'something more than we were meant to be.'

That's a pretty powerful fourth stanza! The imagery of an exchange between the hearts of the writer and reader - wow, scary and probably true up to a point. :shock:

Thanks for an interesting read. Your poem made me think.

jen
 

TipGrundlefunk

Senior Member
Really liked this poem.

This for me begs the eternal question, is the act of creating a work enough? Do we as writers, value our work by our own standards or are we compelled to publish them to establish their worth?

All art must have a measure of self-indulgence otherwise it has no internal value, and if people who create works of art or literature only measure their work by external standards then we would never have had great artists like John Kennedy Toole, Henry David Thoreau or, a writer who had a massive influence on me, Franz Kafka, because they would have given up their art for lack of commercial success.

Hurrah for self-expression in whatever form it takes.

Tip
 

kbsmith

Senior Member
The way I understand it: We carve out our self-identity from nothing. Every thing we do is an extension of what we are; we create ourselves. This is what Oscar Wilde was referring to when he said, "life imitates art."

Thanks for the feedback, Jen and Daniel.
 

TipGrundlefunk

Senior Member
I'm with French philosopher Deleuze on identity. He wrote that identity does not exist in and of itself, that every entity (including human entities) is unique and distinct from every other entity than that identity is formed from a lack of difference. That is to say (on a very basic level) you and I lack the things that would make us chimpanzees or whales or herons, etc. This compels us to know more about our world as it improves our definition of self (and is the epistemological imperative that drives the search for knowledge).

I think by extension, by putting our works out there we are not seeking to define ourselves in the same sense Wilde meant. I mentioned this earlier in another post, I believe every artist must be self-indulgent (I don't mean that in a pejorative sense at all) in order to establish the internal value of a piece, which then use that piece to measure our internal value against the values of others, expanding our knowledge of the world and therefore our identity - or self-identity as you put it.

So in a broad sense I completely agree but probably not for the same reasons as Wilde.

Tip
 
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