The Mad Aardvark

Critical commentary on culture…

Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category

Science poetry

Posted by madaardvark on July 14, 2010

The human soul is a singularity

existing in theory, but as yet undiscovered,

emitting virtual particles, undetectable,

that can only be observed indirectly

by the effect they have on nearby systems:

the heart, the mind, the world.

We observe the effects,

hypothesize and experiment,

and we call this experiment Art.


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Daily Distractions – PoMo Poetry

Posted by madaardvark on June 28, 2010

[insert postmodern picture here]

The most fun I have by myself

is reading terrible poetry that

people post on their blogs.  It’s fun

and easy to find.  I am usually

horrified at the postmodern

implications of the phenomenon.

It’s easy to slap together a poorly

planned poem and post it on a blog.

While I was letting the WordPress

Readomatic find random new blog

entries for me, based either on tags

or categories that show up on my

own blog, I see a new poem posted

nearly every five minutes.  Maybe

it’s a Monday phenomenon.  Maybe

people have an urge on a Monday

lunch break to reduce their stress

and find an outlet for their frustrations

by posting a poem about something

unrelated to their boss acting like

an asshole, rather than tell their boss

that he is, in fact, an asshole.  They

would probably help themselves much

more by blogging or even writing a

poem about their shitty boss instead

of the most popular postmodern poetry

themes: their individuality, their love life,

or their secret Christianity.  (For some

reason, everybody wants to write about

Jesus, but nobody wants to admit it.)

Posted in Art & Literature, blog, poetry | Tagged: , | 4 Comments »

American Purpose

Posted by madaardvark on April 26, 2010

In environments where nothing is beautiful, the elements of functionality and standardization encourage the living body to engage in all kinds of fruitless, purposeless activity, interested only in the aesthetic experience rather than substance or meaning.  It is a revolution and a rejection of formal, day-to-day, purposefully direct activity meant for pure literal productivity and materialist representation.  Even the soul, craving for something more interesting or beautiful than simple practicality in daily living, turns to the religious as metaphor while keeping the ideal of purpose and direction within.  Work, then, in deep boxes made of plastic and textile fabrics, reaches a religious experience: Puritanism returns in the form of work expectation and the beauty of a clear, white, cloud-like afterlife, floating in a blue sky.  Retirement is the Nirvana of American work ethic – dedicated mindfulness of duty to home, employer, God, society.  And Christ provides, typically through magnificent acts of favorable destruction that pays dividends to the honest, upright citizen – one who pays his insurance on time and keeps his premiums low.  We function for ourselves, our families, our companies, the burden of meaning and direction spiraling outward from the individual to the greater whole: the country, the Christ.  The melting pot is one of religious commerce, as each to their own and ability spreads out towards community, communication, commonwealth, capitalism, Catholicism, and corporate hierarchy.  Even those who profess no allegiance to deity or demon contribute to the overall workings of a Christian nation, spreading the value of dollar and deity further and further.  In the hearts and minds, all work and political ties are linked to religion, the thread of a single worker helping weave a tri-colored flag, and each thread made of singular strands of individuality, religion, work ethic, and want, until national identity is composed of all these things, inseparable from one another despite our attempts to ensure otherwise.  For the goal is the spread of ideas and ideals, the encouragement for other flags to keep their colors while adopting our threads and the machines  that make them, the machines that spin them, and the machines that sell them.  In the midst of this overwhelming necessity and drive, this unyielding demand for purpose and direction, this terrible importance of destiny in efficiency, the only escape is through emptiness, thoughtlessness, a void of refreshing oblivion and lack of stressful demands and doomed responsibility.  Impossibility breeds carelessness, ultimate urgency breeds frivolity.

God is a boss that knows our names.  Faceless crowds of people, pushing forward, buzzing, consist of individuals longing for recognition and thanks.  Personal saviors are the foremen and managers that are familiar with us and our work, who know how our efforts contribute to the whole project.  The earthly overseer all too often ignores us, forgets us, and has our checks signed by secretaries with rubber stamps that simulate names of power.  Take this check ye forth and present it, for unto those who believe, the relics of My station, My profits, may be seen as embodiments of My own Self and righteous Name.  I bestow upon the faithful the riches of Heaven.

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midwest haiku

Posted by madaardvark on September 20, 2009

There is one red leaf,

Reminding that summer ends

And I’ll have to rake.

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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 »

The Mad Aardvark under arrest

Posted by madaardvark on July 24, 2008

Someone suggested that I do Vlogging with my daughter, or do a MOG (which I had to Google to find out that meant music log).  It’s funny that it was brought up…

I had this dream several years ago where I did an audio track under the alias “The Mad Aardvark” (hence the name of the blog) that encouraged people to start one-man riots everywhere.  It became a national epidemic, and eventually everyone was wondering who the Mad Aardvark was.  Pretenders tried to take credit, but eventually the police tracked me down.  The dream actually started there, with a cop (my dream cast Denzel Washington in the role) came to my dorm room and arrested me (this dream happened long after I left the dorms, though).  He was pretty cool about everything and let me release a video montage of various television things that was supposed to accompany the audio and made it much less suggestive of violence, before he arrested me.  We hoped for either a not guilty verdict or an early release from prison.

I wish I could remember anything about the audio or the video from my dream besides this one thing: in the video I included a clip from a dream-conjured commercial for Pilsburry cake mix, where some guy makes a shitty cake for his wife and drops it on the floor after all his hard work.  The pile of cake and frosting turns into a claymation scene of the Pilsbury Doughboy holding a cake shapes like a heart.  For some reason that commercial made me go off on something about marketing and subliminal messages, and happened during a more violent outburst on the audio track. 

There was a time when I would encourage one-man riots.  I liked the idea of one person giving into their frustration at how they’re being led around on a leash and engaging in random mayhem, vandalism, cursing, etc.   As a national trend I thought that would make an impact better than protests, or mob mentality riots, or these single-shooter catastrophes.  Just perfectly sane people pissed off and showing it for a change. 

Don’t let them force-feed you mediocrity and tell you their shit tastes like chocolate mousse.  Everything we consume in this culture is designed to numb your senses and make you care less about the fact that you have nothing left to care about.  Don’t just sit there.  Get up, do something, activate yourself.

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American Dining

Posted by madaardvark on July 23, 2008

The way we Americans consume life disgusts me.

Handfulls of ketchup-soaked small pleasures are mangled up between our gnashing molars and swallowed, leaving dark red smears across cheeks and chins. 

As a main course, lifestyle is overloaded with extras that cover up the taste of government surplus meat.  Each bite almost too large to fit between unhinged jaws, we choke too often and our words are muffled by bulging cheeks and pursed lips spitting bits of bread.

The American thirst is unquenchable, since each 32 ounce cheap plastic cup is filled with a product designed to encourage refils.

Napkins are free.  Shirts and unbuttoned jeans are otherwise ruined from careless dripping that stains. 

And then we wonder why we feel sick, regretful, ashamed, but proud of our accomplishments in excess, and already looking forward to the next big meal.

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