Today’s Art (17th May 2015)

Well, today’s painting was originally going to be a background picture for a planned Youtube video that I eventually decided against making. It would have been a recording of my “Tool Duel” poem (I’ll include the text of this poem after this picture), but my attempts at putting on a Texan accent sounded just too terrible for Youtube.

This painting is released under a Creative Commmons BY-NC-ND licence, but the poem after it isn’t.

"Tool Duel" By C. A. Brown

“Tool Duel” By C. A. Brown

And here’s the text of the poem:

“Tool Duel” By C. A. Brown

It happened one starry night,
Billy Bob and Old Joad got into a fight.

“I tell ‘ya”, said Billy Bob
“You’ll need better tools than this to finish the job!”
Joad was shocked. His tools were his pride and joy.
Listen here, Billy Bob! I had these here tools when you were just a boy!“.

Billy Bob laughed and called Joad an old fool.
Old fool, you say? I challenge you to a duel!

Now, Billy Bob and Joad were a liberal sort,
to duel with guns just wasn’t sport.
So, with a grin on his face that bordered on cruel
Joad said, “I’ll whup your ass with these here tools!

Back to back, they stood.
Joad with a chisel, Billy Bob with a plank of wood.

Billy Bob went first and struck a pathetic blow.
Plywood ain’t good wood for fightin’, wooden you know?
Joad dropped his chisel and reached for a hammer
Dangammit, Billy Bob! I’ll slam ‘ya!

Billy Bob replied with something unprintably vile
as he parried Joad’s hammer with a nearby file.
That’s fightin’ talk!” hissed Joad
and once again swung his hammer’s heavy load.

Metal clunked and sparks flew,
Joad’s buddy Clem joined in too.
“Hey! Two on one just ain’t fair!”
Shouted Billy Bob as he clouted Clem with a chair.

Alterted by the commotion, Billy Bob’s old buddy Hank
charged into the work station, flailing a crank.
By accident, he caught old Joad in the spine
That ain’t fair fightin’, ya cowardly swine!

Gripping his back, Joad reached into his overalls
and stabbed Billy Bob with a cleverly-concealed awl.
Clutching his ass, Billy Bob yelled.
“Ah give up! That hurt like hell!”

Now listen up and listen well,
’cause there’s a moral to this story that I tell.
(It’s really nothin’ fancy, just..)
…Awl’s well that ends well.

Two Poems: “Puzzles” And ” 1896″

2015 Artwork Poetry Puzzles and 1896

As I’ve mentioned before, it’s poetry week here this week. And, for today, I thought that I’d dig up some old poems that I originally wrote in late 2009.

I originally thought that I’d lost these poems during a rather serious computer crash that I had in 2010. But, of course, back then I often used to handwrite things before I typed them. So, I was able to find my original notes from the time and I thought that I’d share two of them with you.

Since these are based on my original handwritten drafts, they are probably at least slightly different from the “lost” typed versions of these poems.

Plus, if anyone is curious, “1896” is a poem about this mysterious “sea monster” carcass that washed up on a beach in 19th century Florida. I don’t know where I read about this at the time, but it seemed bizarre enough to write a poem about.

Anyway, enjoy 🙂

“Puzzles” By C. A. Brown

You can live in a room for a year,
and it will still surprise you.
Whether it’s a tape in the old
VCR in the corner,
presumed broken.

Whether it is a gap
in a boarded-up fireplace.
A message scrawled into
a secondhand book, covered
in dust.

Whether it’s a hidden room
in a famous videogame.
It’s been there all along,
unknown, undiscovered.

So, search your rooms,
scour your decks,
open your books.
Things may not look so familiar.

—————-

“1896” By C. A. Brown

It washed up on the beach one morning,
lay bloated and rotting on pristine sands
for several hours.

It was found by people,
scientists crowded round it,
came up with theories.

Dragged it further to shore,
with men, horses and
coarse rope, almost tearing it’s surface.

They planted it on boards,
examined it, photographed it,
cut away a few samples.

The tests were inconclusive,
journalists said that it was an octopus,
a sea monster relic.

They cut, they probed,
through swollen and stinking
tissue, unknown organs.

Decades later, the samples were found
in a vault, discovered afresh,
yet they still could not solve this puzzle of flesh.

———————-

Anyway, I hope that this was interesting 🙂

Introducing Poetry Week (Plus Two Poems)

2015 Artwork Poetry Time and FPS1995 article sketch

I am very proud to introduce “poetry week” on this blog – yes, every article posted here this week will either be about poetry or will actually be poetry (probably a mixture of both new and old poems that I’ve written).

I’m not quite sure why I came up with this idea, but this is the first time that I’ve really done a themed “week” of articles on here, so it’ll be interesting to see how it turns out.

At the moment, I’ve planned to write three articles about poetry and four poem-based posts, but I don’t know if this will change over the coming week or not.

Anyway, to start things off, I’ve written two short poems for today that that I thought that I’d share. Enjoy 🙂

“Time” By C. A. Brown

Ticking away,
seconds and hours,
the universe devours
another moment
without pause.

—–

“FPS 1995” By C. A. Brown

Pixels and sectors,
vertices and vectors,
linedefs and sprites,
split-second fights,
second-rate frights,
Another night in my room,
playing “Doom”.

—-

Anyway, I hope that this was interesting 🙂

“Lost Generation” (edited version) (Poem/Song)

Well, a while earlier, someone mentioned that my generation had been described as a “lost generation” either on the news or in the tabloid press.

Anyway this patronising description (and the fact that, if it was in the tabloid press, then my generation was probably blamed for being “lost”) annoyed me enough to make me write a song about it. Except, for some reason, it reads a lot more like more like a poem than a song.

Since I’ve kind of decided to keep this blog at least vaguely suitable for general audiences, I’ve edited the version of the poem that I’ve posted here (so, hopefully it will be spared if David Cameron actually goes through with his ridiculously illiberal and foolish idea of “filtering” the internet for everyone in the UK), .

The edits will be marked with square brackets and the uncensored version of the poem will be posted on PekoeBlaze Uncut [NSFW] (which will probably fall victim to any meddling with the internet by the Conservative Party). Sorry about this.

Anyway, without any further ado, here’s the poem:

Lost Generation (edited version)

They say “lost generation”
like they’re on a mission
because we aren’t [boot-licking]
cogs in their machine.

They say “lost generation”
without hesitation,
with a little self-satisfaction.
Forgive me if I have no patience
for all this tabloid [confabulation].

They say “lost generation”
as if we care, as if everything was fair,
as if we’re just going to fall into the
plans they’ve prepared.

They say “lost generation”
but hate it when we mention
that, in all fairness,
it was they who lost us.

“That Feeling” (Art/Poetry)

"That Feeling" By C. A. Brown (this drawing/poem is released under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND licence)

“That Feeling” By C. A. Brown (this drawing/poem is released under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND licence)

This is a drawing about an emotion which I first felt when I was about sixteen (after seeing an interview with a comedian on TV) and it’s one I’ve felt occasionally in various contexts ever since then. And, believe me, it never quite gets old or boring. Basically, it’s the feeling you get when you read about a celebrity or see a fictional character who has something in common with you.

I don’t think that there’s actually a word for this emotion, but it isn’t one that you really ever forget if you’ve experienced it properly. It’s the almost-spiritual feeling of ecstatic reality which comes when you actually see a central part of yourself reflected in the world around you.

If you’re a fairly “ordinary” kind of person, then you’ve probably experienced this emotion so often that you probably barely even notice it and it’s nothing more than neutral background noise. However, if you’re an inherently unusual kind of person then I’m sure (or at least I hope) that you’ve probably experienced this emotion at least once or twice.

Basically, if you have to ask about this emotion, then you’ll never quite know what it feels like…

Well, after serendipitously experiencing this emotion twice within the past week, I felt like writing a poem/song about it.

A single verse of it spontaneously appeared as soon as I started writing, but I couldn’t think of anything more, so I decided to turn it into a drawing.

Since I liked this drawing so much, I’ve decided to upload it now (I’m usually a few days ahead of what I post online), which is why the art in it looks a lot better than the “Today’s Art” posts for the next few days probably will.

Poem: “Another”

Well, I was in kind of an introspective mood earlier and this poem just kind of appeared. Seriously, the words “another world-ending fear” and “another untranslatable thought” flashed through my mind and I thought that I’d write them down in case I could use them in a poem sometime.

And, shortly after I wrote them down, the whole poem just kind of appeared in my mind line-by-line at lighting speed (although the rather fixed structure of every line probably helped with this).

This poem took me about fifteen minutes to write and it rhymes almost perfectly too. Although I don’t write poetry that often, I often end up surprising myself when I do.

Anyway, without any further ado, here’s “Another”.
——————

Another

By C. A. Brown

Another glistening tear,
another world-ending fear,
another bright daydream,
another familiar theme.

Another untranslatable thought,
another hope cut short,
another serene solitude,
another glimpse of meaning.

Another story to carry me,
another borrowed philosophy,
another roiling dream,
another inner scream.

Another mistranslation,
another emotional poison,
another hidden mythology,
another strange synchronicity.

Another cathartic fantasy,
another beautiful insanity,
another existential ecstacy,
another moment of meaning.

Another hour too fast,
another day too slow,
another alien moment,
another incomprehensible lament.

Another icy terror,
another sudden error,
another moment of not knowing,
another introspective poem.