The Mad Aardvark

Critical commentary on culture…

Archive for August, 2009

An Interim

Posted by madaardvark on August 16, 2009

For your enjoyment and education…


Posted in pseudo-science, science | Tagged: , , | 2 Comments »

More pomz

Posted by madaardvark on August 9, 2009

I thought my contemporary poetry attempt went pretty well, so I’m going to try a new one.  Again, I do not like this kind of poetry, but I’m going to approach it with as much honesty as I can (considering I don’t think there’s much honesty in it).  If anyone enjoys contemporary poetry, and/or has some legitimate criticism for this, please feel free to contribute.

Amid the wreckage of Americana,

the lies and the lore,

Two young girls thought I was gay,

while a robot gypsy

said the same thing about my girlfriend.

I’m starting to see a problem that I can’t go further than these short poems.  I can’t go further without explaining exactly what I’m talking about, but on the other hand I think I set up a familiar image without explaining what it was.

Posted in poetry | 1 Comment »

Contemporary Poetry

Posted by madaardvark on August 7, 2009

I’d like to draw your attention to poetry.  After some sudden life realizations, I’ve decided to turn my energies to active creation rather than active criticism of things that do not deserve the attention.  One problem I’ve noticed that I have with my own poetry is that it isn’t marketable to contemporary audiences.  Now, I prefer art and poetry to reach out to the world and engage it, rather than reach in to my [inner turmoil/masturbatory fantasies/truths only pertaining to me].  Because of my natural aversion to self-expressive diary-diarrhetic word jumbles, my own work tends to get impersonal and sound pretentious.

There isn’t a magic wand I can wave that makes me more approachable, but I have been working on it.  Strangely enough, my whole argument against contemporary poetry is that it is less and less approachable because it is far too personal.  I do not understand what is going on in one person’s mind, and they don’t seem to want to share it. They’re skipping steps on the journey and not telling me what’s left out – they’re leaving out connections in their argument, and that makes it look like they’re jumping to conclusions.  And I think that’s my biggest problem.  Here is an illustration of my point, written by myself.

Love is failure

when wings of

broken butterflies, spinning

in oil at milestone 124, highway 79

fade to onion pulp and neon

relish in warm rancid bowls

in West Virginia.

Now, I personally think that is hilarious.  I have taken a private, personal memory, shared by only one other person, and convoluted a poem with it’s meaning, memory, and no roadsigns to tell my audience what the hell I am talking about.  The next thing that the contemporary poet will do is remove themselves from accountability, never to reveal the big ‘secret’ that the poem sprang from, saying it is because ‘everyone will interpret it how they will,’ but truthfully, it takes away the mystery that the poem relies on.  Or, they will go into overabundant detail, explaining what every word means to them, in order for the poem to take on a meaning beyond the few confusing nonsense phrases the poet vomits onto paper.  It’s about deception, either way.  I want poems to get richer and deeper when I know where they come from, but stand alone without that information because they stand for common experiences rather than the specific event a poet happened to go through personally.

For reading this entire post, I’ll give you a bonus treat.  This link. Enjoy.

Posted in Art & Literature, poetry | 4 Comments »

new directions

Posted by madaardvark on August 5, 2009


I’ve had to reconsider how I’m approaching the world and the craft of writing.  I realize that I have to approach things from a more professional angle.  It’s difficult, though, to maintain composure in the face of hideously insulting artwork.

…There has been some kind of misunderstanding of how artists are viewed by the world.  And the artists are doing everything they can to promote the misconceptions.  I get the impression that the world of art and literature is made up of stage magicians, all hiding  their secrets from an audience that may lose interest if those secrets are revealed.  So the artists perpetuate a mystery of divine inspiration and raw talent.

Am I a traitor to my profession if I give away these secrets to a general public?  Will the other magicians hold it against me later in life?

I have expressed that I dislike pure self-expression in art.  Writing should not be journal entries, no matter how therapeutic it is for the writer.  In fact, I would rather see writers kill themselves, literally, in an attempt to express something to the world about the world.

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