|11-03-2005, 10:20 PM||#1|
Join Date: Nov 2005
prose poetry intoxication
By Wolf Larsen
Today I tried to tie my shoe laces but everything was upside down, and as I walked down the street buildings leaned over me and threatened me with whispers and suddenly all the buildings in New York city were empty and there were flowers growing out of all the corpses on the sidewalks and all the corpses were playing classical music, so I became obsessed with basements, so I began painting the subways with voluptuous poetry intoxicated with oozing falling rivers of bright paint, and when I walked into McDonalds everyone chopped off their hands, and their hands began writing poetry, thatís when penises began to spread across these pages, thatís when I began erasing the planets and stars and suddenly a lot of poets became confused because I re-invented words into anguished fires burning in your minds, suddenly all your poetry became rocks and everyone began eating poetry while they sat naked painting their bodies orange and blue... orange and blue... thatís when I re-arranged everyoneís poetry into booming-clashing-thundering symphonies and the poets all kept running after their words but all they could find were highways, thatís when your desk became a tormented sea of words and the words were dripping unto your floor and creating buildings, the sky grew with helpless buildings, your hands became buildings so your face became a subway train, this is where fungus grows all over the pair-of-asses review, this is where george pimples reaches into his asshole and begins pulling out rocks, the pair-of-asses review becomes a cemetery, your thoughts become buildings and you become so obsessed with buildings that your teeth grow paintings, your mother begins eating highways, your family becomes a mushroom cloud, every painting and poem and symphony all become mushroom clouds, this is where your mother devours the city and becomes a bus, this is where rivers explode all over the thundering continent infected with dancing rivers - howling rivers - moaning rivers splashing through poetry books and poetry books become armegoddons of words inspired with death, this is where erect penises 20 stories high begin sprouting along highways and all the censored become nuns, I begin planting night words - neon words - roaming words - constant words scattering throughout your mind and your mind becomes barges and mammoth container ships and suddenly your mind is being raped by a longshoreman who is spray-painting poetry all over your brain and as the longshoreman gives you --------politically incorrect/ censored--------- and all you can do is smile with miles of poetry in big letters falling all over you and millions of cockroaches begin crawling in your brain
Copyright „ 2004 by Wolf Larsen. All Rights Reserved.
This is just one of many poems in the poetry book Eulogy for the Human Race. Check out other poems from Eulogy for the Human Race at http://www.secretwebsites.com/English_poetry_book.htm
You may now buy Eulogy for the Human Race at Amazon.com or other online book retailers.
Wolf Larsen is an adventurer, novelist, playwright, and poet. He has traveled through 45 countries in Latin America, Europe, the Middle East, and Asia. To pay for his travels Wolf worked as a seasonal laborer in Alaska. Wolf has lived in Chicago, Wisconsin, New York City, Ecuador, Honduras, Brazil, and Peru. Wolf has written four novels, six collections of poetry, a play, and a screenplay. His two autobiographical novels are Unalaska, Alaska and Travel Around the World? Why Not?!
I will soon be discontinuing my AOL account, so the best way to contact Wolf Larsen is: email@example.com
|11-04-2005, 03:11 PM||#2|
Join Date: Oct 2003
Roses are reddish
Violets are bluish
If wolf is a poet
Then atheists are Jewish.
Would that our Frieda couldst delete this thread
and that Wolf wouldst keep his crap in his own head.
The only plus in this drivel I count
is that Wolf is deleting his AOL account.
Not that I'd claim to be poet myself
merely rhyming dumb words taken off of the shelf
But Wolf has certain imbibed way way too much
if he dreams of profit from this awful rank stuff.
|11-04-2005, 07:04 PM||#3|
Join Date: Aug 2005
Location: The Hills north of Mouseland, sunny FLA.
Don't be a sheep!
Coffee, you poor, myopic Philistine. Do you not see? This man is a visionary! He is a subversive wordgod, who has lain bare the bleak matrix of the doomed universe. Well, maybe not the actual bleak matrix, but dollars to doughnuts, he has lain bare somewhere, I guarandamntee ya.
I mean, O ye sick caffeinated freak, that in my hummable estimation, Mister Wolf Larson is the love child of James Joyce and Lawrence Ferlinghetti, if Ferlinghetti were a fertile-wombed woman named Joyce James, whose pendulous breasts became cabinets, and her teeth became paintings, and the cemetery city became an endlessly morphing Sally Cruikshank cartoon, only without any of the humor.
I tell you some kinda what, Senor Mountain-Grown Beverage, you dismiss this man at your peril. I have seen the fu!ture, and! it!'s pep!pered! with ex!clamat!on mark$!!!!!!!!!!! ? I have been to the website, and it is absoloot!ly ass-packed with delirious free verse, every example of which seems to include tall buildings bending over sidewalks littered with corpses. Larson's battle cry is clear: BETTER SANITATION! FIRMER BUILDINGS! (Oh yeah, and apparently, MANKIND, KISS YOUR ASS GOODBYE! ...but I don't wanna read too much into it. Poetry is subjective, after all.)
The website also offers works written for the stage and screen, offered up with the same hysterical tone that we Larsonites have come to crave, and having craven, crave more of. Which. Then, like a big glob of luscious butter cream icing on top of the bratwurst, there are the novels. Novels they may be, but these slabs of raw fiction have been carved from the author's rich and colorful life experience, and are virtually reeking with elan. Make that literally. No, I mean it... they reek. You will rub your eyes in disbelief at the rugged account of life on an Alaskan fishing trawler, in which he describes one of his co-workers as, "the most cuddly looking sweet sounding guy in the Bering Sea." I crap you not. Check out Larson's travel book, Travel Around The World? Why Not?! Goggle gormlessly at such commentary as, "That's a great idea! Today I'll go to China!" and, " 'Having money is cool,' I thought. 'Yippeeeeee!' " Just wait. Visit the website, and I promise that you too, will become a rabid Larsonion.
Get on board, ZeBoarders! CRY WOLF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Edging for the door,
...or words to that effect.
Last edited by dddrum : 12-08-2005 at 03:34 PM.
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