To write a poem
Is a task-
Not so easy as making a cup of tea
Nor so difficult as breaking a fence
To set a prisoner free.
But it is as good as breaking a way
Into the most mysterious cave
......
I did not want to die.
Like an ape that never learned
to speak as a ghost in its dreams
or invent words that rhymed.
Who took the olive thought
I used to wear on my forehead
to protect myself from stupidity?
......
I hate to interrupt the show but something terrible has happened.
The creator we have come to know is missing.
Only the worst can be presumed,
A young man doomed.
What caused this?
Why dismiss creative bliss?
Please turn back,
Otherwise goodbye Zach.
The missing creator now wonders,
......
There's my creativity lying on any loose sheet of paper he could find. There's my creativity moving around in the work of the musician Daniel Johnston. In all sorts of grotesque characters, big breasted women, etcetera. His mind was never short of images. It seems that he was never able to stop drawing given how many drawings I was able to find by him.
I had my turn for awhile. I had a big burst of creativity, I had it for a few years. Drawing almost everyday for hours. Back when I lived in my parents basement. But when I was told, You Can't Show Them! It all changed after that. It was an end to the limitless expression I felt free to do. I figured that if no one can see my drawings, then I was not going to make anymore of them.
My Drawing 1 professor introduced me to the 99 Dada Manifestos of Tristan Tzara. I believe that most of what stuck with me from my art education was my inner desire to rebel.
And what I write today are the continuation of Dada Manifestos started in the 1910's. Dada Manifestos that lay bare the lack of creativity in today's culture and what is needed to change that.
Tension rises within,
A pin in the flow
Overthinking the doodle,
Proving my problem, too,
With writing;
Halting expression
In taut anticipation,
Dreading the thought of
Poor articulation.
......
Writer of the present era,
Conceived and raised in the illumination of the gods.
Literary path they showed me,
Never to be them but to seek what they sought.
Winter and summer, i lay my lines.
Explicit and abstract, still in my lines of ancestors.
Lines of creatity i wished, and end to it i prayed not.
Papyrus and cuneiform, all i grew with.
......
Leo's brush conveyed more light than verse
Beholding beauty's movement in the soul
Ahhh... but adding melody provides the turn
That living on the page a word can't know
Ephemeral, this flight of fancy, sure
Which airy essence flies past thought alone
That flight soars brighter than is ours to grasp
It shadows us in shades of reverie
These heights of sensuality can't last
......
The infinite possibilities
Driver of the world
crushed through school
Lacking in the modern world
The course we follow
Infinite as a child
Finite as an adult
Growing and shrinking
Never one to stay the same
......
yup
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