The Story Behind "Inspiration"

During my Introduction to Creative Writing course we would often do exercises to help strengthen ourselves as writers. We were given prompts and given a little bit of class time to write based on that subject. One time, for the fiction side of the class, we were given the prompt: “Describe a character, as fully as possible, who might own all of the following items: Ballet Slippers, A Lava Lamp, Army Dog Tags, and A Grandfather Clock.”

Maybe one day I’ll post what I came up with for that prompt, but what I’ve already posted is my response to a poetry-prompt. For this one we were told to write two stanzas. The first stanza’s lines could only have three syllables each, and for the second stanza each line had to be 20 syllables. I liked what I did so much that I decided to submit it in the final portfolio for the semester which landed me a 94 and helped seal the A I got in the class. 

Inspiration

Open clean,

broken fresh.

Empty pain

seething flesh.

Fairly new,

feeling old.

Living spaces never foster ideas in a fort night that should result in an hour,

and empty places always dial back their influences as the light subsides.

Just as night gives way to day, we find the life that drained away return, never lost.

But sprinting with the time never leads us to wallow in our miseries for now,

yet we sit and we wallow, biding our time as if we have too much to give, lost
in everything is where we stand, not allowing life to lead us to invention.

The Story Behind "Fuck You, Andy Warhol"

Originally, when I started going to school at University of Wisconsin – Milwaukee, I was planning on working through a double major. I was planning on taking English/Creative Writing, which ended up being my primary track, and I was planning on majoring in Film Studies. For that, I started my time at UWM with a History of Film course. It was through this course that I realized that, while I love film, I didn’t want to study it at that level.

It was through during that course, though, that “Fuck You, Andy Warhol” was born. Well, it was born of two things during that year of college. First, was a class on Avant-Garde cinema during my History of Film course. There were some Avant-Garde films that I enjoyed, such as Un Chien Andalou, but the majority of them I found quite pointless. The second inspiration was a video someone showed me at the Eight Note café in the union. The video was shot under glass, I’m assuming, and featured a tongue licking up colorful goo. This was art, ladies and gentleman, and it was pointless and disgusting.

Originally I called this poem “Futuristic Post-Modern Avant-Gardism”. Most of the class I workshopped this poem with didn’t get it. My instructor at the time, Colleen, was one of the only people to get it and she loved it. I changed the name based on a suggestion from a friend in a group a started known as The Pensmiths’ Guild. 

Fuck You, Andy Warhol

One

Two

The imagery streaks by

Like a jumble of words

Three breaking down

Four is never right

As five never tries

Just a series of

Unextraordinary rhymes

The left uncovers the edge

The right too long to try

Breaking down all that I see

And meaning is unreliable

To believe in this

Is to believe in nothing

Modern becomes unmade

The make becomes untried

And we all just wonder why

Analyzing a crime

As if crime can become art

We’ve all wasted our time

Wondering where six meets seven

Eight

Nine

The Story Behind "Love Knife, Revised"

Back on November 20^th I posted the song “Love Knife” I wrote with my old band Social Fallout. When I took an Introduction to Creative Writing course at the University of Wisconsin – Milwaukee I submitted the original lyric form of the song as one of my poetry submissions. The problem with that is that rhythm works different in lyrics set to music than it is in poetry. If you knew the melody for the song, than the rhythm worked, for those that weren’t familiar with the song it didn’t quite work.

At the end of the semester we had to take at least one fiction and one poetry piece and revise it for a final portfolio. I opted to renovate “Love Knife” for the portfolio. It turned out to be a difficult process. I don’t consider myself a poet, although I do occasionally dabble in the form. I had a hard time trying to figure out the rhythmic scheme I wanted to utilize. Stanzas 2, 4, and 6 were the first to come together. Stanzas 1, 3, and 5 came together when I determined what would remain on the first line.

I used the opportunity to also try to flesh out the message of the poem. I still didn’t want to hit the reader over the head with a message, but I didn’t want to make sure that it’s understood.  

Love Knife, Revised

He says, “I need you my dear for now

till the end of time. You are my strength,

you are my love.” The kiss he gives her

lights up the night; from his coat he pulls

a knife and slits her throat. I see it

through the rose colored windows

through the rose colored windows

through the blood stained windows.

Corpse in the tub

drenched in her blood.

The shower’s on

to make her clean;

prepared for hell.

Empty her veins,

she feels no pain.

Have I lost my

mind is on fire, should I turn away.

The very image before me hits

me like a freight train. I try to look

from the horror before me, but I

find myself turn to her on the floor.

This sight starts my mind racing;

yes, my mind is still racing.

I’m anticipating!

What should I do?

My life has changed;

I know the truth.

Where should I go?

Drama unfolds

this scene’s not done,

I’ll just stay here;

my show for one.

He says, “I needed you dear to make

me whole,” and from my voyeur chair I

can’t help feeling cold. Beside the tub

he drops to his knees to kiss her dead

lips, my heart drops wanting one more hit.

Why do I want to see death?

Do I need to see death?

I need to see death.

His job now done:

the body clean

he leaves the scene,

this scene serene,

walks out the door.

I just want more.

We all want more,

We all want more.

Melloh Yelloh, Part 5

Melloh Yelloh

Yay! It’s eight o’clock?!

Trying to get myself ready to go but,

we’re all asleep

from a long night of annotation writing.

Pikachu had to keep me awake

‘cause I was so drunk from all that sake.

I want to get drunk and do karaoke,

but then sober up real quick-like because I’ve got class tomorrow, and I’m responsible;

though that won’t guarantee me showing up with pants on.

Then everyone will see my thong

as I strut down North Ave.

Melloh Yelloh

Yay! It’s eight o’clock!?

I just woke up seven minutes ago;

everyone is busily writing something.

I wish I liked coffee.

Drinking coffee makes me feel grown-up,

it makes me feel so mature.

Janis said one day,

“You and I will be gay,

and by gay I mean really freakin’ cheerful,

and by cheerful, I mean unhealthily chipper.

The kind of chipper that makes you want to curl up and hide.”

Melloh Yelloh

Yay! It's eight o' clock?!

Abby spills her coffee over LL's laptop. Shock!

Oh GOD! It's everywhere, and she doesn't look very happy.

It's like an explosion of disgusting and sticky and delicious

Fluffy goodness in my mouth

So soft and delightful

Like a furry little hen

With dancing shoes on

And a song stuck in my head

Of days gone by, forgotten

And our hands full of tiny llamas

Melloh Yelloh

Yay! It’s eight o’clock!?

Everyone is wide awake,

the sun is rising while I made my way to school

and I felt very fake.

Many write poems about being baked

that’s why they always see Pokemon.

Babies always be cryin’,

damn straight, I ain’t lyin’.

Except I am. I’m sorry,

or am I?

(give Doctor Evil face, pinky to dastardly smile)

Yes!

Melloh Yelloh, Part 4

Melloh Yelloh

Yay! It’s eight o’ clock?!

Intersecting lines divide us not

but still they cut our hands in two

and stapled our earloves to our neck.

They also melted our shoes to our feet,

I have no idea what the above sentence means.

Too bad I can’t help you out

for I feel like there is much I do not know:

like the reason for unicorn’s existence.

I ran to the lake for an evening piss,

I didn’t even see that shark.

Melloh Yelloh

Yay! It’s eight o’clock?!

And the noose is tight.

Another day, another victim.

Ever delay what has already been written;

what has already been bought

was bought by my dead hamster

who apparently had the money to buy it.

He won the lottery last week

and now he’s homeless

because his writing was too much for those to handle.

Gotta catch them all!

Melloh Yelloh

Yay! It’s eight o’clock?!

I finally found my llama;

I left it in the front pouch of my backpack,

it was cold so I put it there to stay warm.

This will not be the most brilliant thing I’ve ever written.

If anyone is brilliant, it’s not me.

“I feel like all my writing is always not up to par,”

is what she said,

“bitches always giving me head!”

I have no idea where they get them from – maybe the morgue?

Yeah, probably the morgue.

Melloh Yelloh, Part 3

Melloh Yelloh

Yay! It’s eight o’clock?

I slump down in my chair,

“Did I remember to comb my hair,

what happened last night?

and where the hell are my pants?

I may have left them in the park by Hobo Jim.

But then again I could just have a terrible memory

of things that should always be forgotten;

and llamas that will never be found. =,(

Cursed be those who hunt llamas!

May those who are cursed be sentenced to hell!

Melloh Yelloh

Yay! It’s eight o’clock?!

Trying to get myself ready to go

for a long day of classes.

A wild Pikachu appears!

Rua, my yellow little friend!

You remind me of a little yellow spaceship,

until I look hard enough, then you’re more of a hue of orange.

Though don’t get me wrong – it’s still an awful colour on you –

it’s as though someone got sick and blew

chocolate gravy all over

Oh shit! I’m allergic to chocolate!

Melloh Yelloh

Yay! It’s eight o’clock?!

What am I doing awake,

should I be somewhere right now?

Heh heh, probably

or maybe not, I don’t know.

Either way, it’s a fucking shame

describes scenes that never come.

Writes her own because the professionals are shit heads;

Literally, they have shit in their heads.

How quaint.

Perhaps they’ll be tomorrow coming.

Melloh Yelloh, Part 2

Melloh Yelloh

Yay! It’s eight o’clock!?

Early morning alarm gives me shock.

In the shower, I think about William Butler Yeats,

but I dare not let anyone know that, because it’s embarrassing.

I’m already blushing, just thinking about it,

just thinking about what I just wrote.

How do I work with this,

maybe I should approach this like I would a rabid dolphin.

You know, stay out of the water and approach with care, and maybe a shotgun,

because if they get to you first, you’re better off dead.

For the zombies will feast and in turn leave you wanting more.

Melloh Yelloh

Yay! It’s eight o’ clock?!

And I’ve already been up for three hours!

How can you sleep when there are so many things to do?

What do I do first?!

I feel so heavy,

maybe it’s because I’m on a planet with 1.8 times the mass of Earth.

Wait, was that a storm trooper?

No, just a kitten. How could I confuse the two?

Easily for a deer is an elephant and an elephant is a dog;

and a llama found

buried treasure.

Melloh Yelloh

Yay! It’s eight o’clock?

It reeks of sewage rot

and skeletal remains of rats cover the ground,

everything is dust and decay and silence.

The corpse, belayed, never passive

her corpse was stuck on an A flat, she didn’t notice.

Like Little Miss Sunshine, they found porn in the trunk,

along with handcuffs and strawberries.

She tripped on the pavement and the strawberries mashed,

she fell on the ground and the cloud berries flashed

now she is covered because she crashed.

Melloh Yellow, Part 1

Melloh Yelloh

Yay! It’s eight o’ clock!?

Time for someone to make a hilarious grand entrance into class

taking time to delay the seriousness that never lasts.

So we find our llamas.

They were waiting for us in the hallways,

because they weren’t invited to the classroom.

They begin a conversation and become good friends

then turn one of them gets punched in the heart;

because they think they know it all,

for example: the purpose of unicorns

is a lighter form of porn.

Melloh Yelloh

Yay! It’s eight o’ clock?!

Which now we are all gathered

around the loading dock.

I find the man, Spock.

“Dear God, Spock,” I say. “What’s with the goatee?”

He replies, “I’m a goat of course.”

Well, he was the most handsome goat I ever did see,

but I usually like sheep.

They put me to sleep in the best way;

a solid thump to the head.

And buried in the New Jersey soil.

Melloh Yelloh

Yay! It’s eight o’clock!?

I can’t wait to get to class

and get some ASS!

Speaking of which, there’s always some downtown,

but I don’t go there anymore because I’ll get mugged and shot

because everyone on the street is both greedy and sadistic;

wrapped in themselves.

I love pigs in a blanket.

Well, maybe just the blankets

on the floor with the vodka,

and happy as ever.

Exquisite Corpses: Introduction

I first learned about Exquisite Corpses in my Introduction to Creative Writing class with Colleen Abel. The idea is to write in a group. Once you have the group you come up with a title and the first line of the Corpse. After that each member of the group writes the next line of the Corpse. They, then, fold the paper over so only the line that they last wrote can be seen and pass it to their neighbor. The neighbor will then add a line to the Corpse, fold the paper so only their line can be seen, and then pass it to their neighbor. This will continue for as long as the group decides to continue.

As you can probably guess, the results can be extremely hilarious or extremely profound or both. What will follow are the first Exquisite Corpses I was ever involved in. I want to reiterate that these are a group effort. And because of that I want to also let you know who was involved. Not all of the people listed below were there the day we composed these Corpses, but because they left an indelible impression on the class, I feel they deserved to be mentioned as well.

Here are the writers of the Exquisite Corpses that will follow: Colleen Abel, Toni Alioto, Abigail Bong, Carol Brandt, Colleen Cavanaugh, Daniel Defenbaugh, Paul Fischer, Lorilei Flores, Gabriel Goodman, Amber Graham, Nathanyel Langreder, Quoc Quan Le, Okikuni Okabe, Matt Roeder, Jake Schultz, Shira Stein, Taylor Wall, Jess Wichman, J Courtney Wilkerson, Amanda Williams, and Mikail Winters.

This first set of Exquisite Corpses went by the title “Melloh Yelloh” and had the first line “Yay! It’s eight o’ clock?!” (although you will see the punctuation possibly change over Corpses). Writing ties people together, and this class is tied together by what we did in this class together and I’m proud to be a part of it.

Stay tuned for the actual Exquisite Corpses!