Tarting it up a Bit

Every once in a while I have to have a post that's just plain old prose writing, or the spiders in their Google-webs decide that The Bringdown is a spam blog. That's what this post is. Nothing interesting will happen. No phrases will be turned. All this is is a series of sentences strung together like you would normally expect in prose, because apparently when I try to write poetry, what results is very close to the inauthentic text that is used for spam blogs.

Yesterday I thought to myself, Well that raises some interesting questions about poetry, and the expectations we have about text, how we interact with text, and machine generated nonsense text. Then I got bored with that and killed zombies for the better part of the evening.

I don't have anything else to write about in this post, so the remainder will be mostly content free. Not free in the sense that it could go anywhere, man those are some crazy associations, but free in the sense that there will be nothing worth reading. It's safe to say that if anyone is reading this, they could have stopped before they even started and saved a few precious minutes of their lives. This sentence, for instance, is just a description of itself. Then there's this other sentence here that is sort of similar. This last sentence is where the post ends.

It's Not Done, Yet

here we are at the park
you borrowed a bike and said
you could jump that, no problem
a bunch of people watched
while you launched
I carried you away from that
wired over stones and blood
I wield the dull knife
useful only for spreading fat
while you stand before this
high manic you won't remember any of it
waving a very sharp knife
improbably I, or someone else
talks you down
probably offers you a drink
speeding you drive away
in someone's car
laughing with the door open
you call and apologize
and again
I hold you sobbing
unrelieved sorrow salt and snot
later you vomit black
I look up, you're holding on
for dear life to the rocks
and then the snow, oh god
the snow
you pissed vitamin enhanced there
marking the top of the world
in bright yellow and then
held the camera and swore,
half-amused and half-thought
I wouldn't get up

choreomania χορεία μανία chorea imagnativa aestimative

click yes to give it away
cancel to go back
adulate iridium irrepentant idiolizers
reject lapidary l______

The world, devoid. Motionless, emotionless, subsequent/resultant. Who wrote it? Did I write it, when I didn't know, while I was sleeping, when I let myself go, myslef, me flys, fe slym, did I dress in wrinkled clothing?

The Terms of Robert's Service

If you like black coffee, you'll like apathy.
If you like apathy, you'll like music.
If you like music, you'll like silence.
silence fire
∴ moving pictures
moving pictures
∴ t-shirts
∴ pregnancy
∴ eating disorders
eating disorders
∴ toga parties
toga parties
∴ if you like
if you like
∴ recursion
∴ serif fonts
serif fonts
∴ genocide
∴ pathos
∴ chips

Missed Connections from Vancouver Radiohead concert, or lolhipsters

You shoved me and stood in my line of sight w4m
Houndstooth <3 Argyle m4w
We talked about China in the mini donuts line w4w
Sung along to Faust Arp with u want 2 kaorke? m4w
Androgyne with nice bone structure m4?
same t-shirt m4w
Shared eyeroll over frat boy sing-a-long m4m
met you in coachella want to go to bumpershoot
Umbrella woes m4w
You left at nine i should have gone with you w4w
I got your number but the paper disolved m4w
the girl who was there to see the liars m4w
grey cardigan & fashdance t by the lightpole
blue mec rain jacket taking video on ipod
unshaven slovenly heavy pot smoker behind me w4m
you - war deserter in army hat, me - bush apologist --coffee? w4m
i coveted your wooden earrings m4w
cute s&p guy with sister(?) m4m
zizek book peeking out of your bag, want to smarty?
you gave birth at the back it was beautiful mw4w
we both liked them before everyone else m4w
"dry" humped on the 99 -
you had on a garbage bag with a face hole m4w
to the chick who puked on my leg
u said u dont have the internet but here goes m4w

Unsay it

fix those broken edges
torn where it was
push them together, watch the structure

triangles go into their corresponding blanks
magic tape mistake
in the ditch and the weeds, head up stranger

stitch it stitch it stitch it
fix it fix it fix it


Heartwarming Bullshit

So here's a good story. It's about that place I go with my family, where we go for bike rides and sometimes windsurfing (last time I did that was rough, you would not believe).

At the time of this yarn, my brother Dave is three and a bit years old and I'm two. Craig is unborn, and does not feature here. At that age, our parents would drag us around in a trailer attached to my Dad's bike. The trailer still sees use to this day, hauling groceries. It is molded black plastic riveted to an aluminum frame, and quite well made. The best part here is that the name of the trailer is Bugger LuggerTM.

Alright so it's a beautiful day out at the lake, and the decree comes down that we're going for a bike ride. As it has been, and will continue to be, decreed. We get buckled in, because of course the Bugger LuggerTM has a seat belt, and off we go. Probably Dave is on my side, I don't remember. We ride along for a while, the sun is shining and people are smiling, probably saying hello to each other without fear. In general, it is the seventies.

When the sun is obscured by leaves, Dave and I begin our debate. Couched in terms that we know, our epic disagreement consists of two words. When the rays of that heavenly object strike us, one declares, "Sunny!" and when those rays hide in the trees, the other replies, "Dark!"

This story is referenced regularly, and has been for so long that a shorthand of it has become one of those phrases that are specific to a family. My Dad likes to say "Sunny-dark, guys." when we're fighting. One of my favourite examples is "It's not sunny-dark!", meaning that the argument is valid.
It was my hope that you would shrink beneath my withering contempt, and reduced to a Lilliputian size and degree of ridiculousness, I could simply swat you, rendering you into a physical semblance of your personality.

By the power of the carriage return, poetry.

I want to write poems about vast wastelands of
blasted earth, a place with no life.
It feels dishonest.

What words would I use to describe a place
without humanity?
They have been overused
long before I dreamt of dying.

What I seek to disenchant,
to craft, to commodify,
slips away from my febrile mind.

Once more, with feeling.

rush to the end hollow man
mess husk remainder

Where Usage Goes to Die

The only time I tell the truth
lately is late at night
the search bar in my browser
receives my confessions
it's never just me, the world wide web
makes sure there is someone who
asked the same question
someone else who confides in a machine
instead of people
I keep trying, typing things I'm sure
will prove me individual
validate my locked face
and crooked spine, but after years of this
I still don't have a googlewhack

It is a Patterned Hoodie, They are Popular with the Kids

I walk in shoulders up
hands in my hoodie
chin on my chest
eyes on the floor
when I'm sure no-one's looking I scan the room once for
anyone I know
Hooray! I spot a chum, hide my relief
pull one hand out of my hoodie
and lift it, from the elbow
into the air in as nonchalant a gesture as possible
at the same time I bring my chin a few degrees up on the y axis
when I have completed this manoeuvre I say
hey buddy
I like to introduce a variable into the most rigid social structure

At a Party

It was nice to see you
you look nice
What are you doing these days
you should wear that all the time
We have to exchange email addresses

Did you eat some turkey
Do you still play music
it's really smoky in here
When do you go back

How are your parents
I recommend staying with the casual thing
I was like Ah!
Back that the fuck up there buddy
and slow it down

My irises
Is everyone waiting?
that was almost good timing
this room is empty without a drum kit
all my stuff is over there