Monthly Archives: July 2011

Bad Bad…

Quick update:  The spider I consented to killing is in fact, alive and well.

To the point, I’ve been reading Bad Bad lately and I’d like to share some.  Chelsey Minnis is my very favorite poet and I hope you’ll see why.  She’s incredible.

She came and spoke to my senior creative writing workshop, and I absolutely fell in love.  She has since become a dental assistant or something along that line. So here’s some of her poetry.

Preface 5

You should not fall in love with your mentor, but you should try to punish him with your poems…

Then he won’t dare to kiss you on the forehead…

Too bad mentors are like dogs but they aren’t as smart as the dogs…

Often they are crying because of the truth…

I want to say in my poem that I am alive! But it is just a triumphant moment…

I loved my mentor…because of his ugliness…

But I wish for my poems to be understood as complete failures… if they have no loving-kindness…

Preface 9

If poetry is dead…then good.

I know what will be fun! I’ll buy your book and ask you to sign it and then throw it in the trash.

Of all the beautiful rip-offs this will be my favorite…

Poetry has to update or I will begin to rip my sleeves down…

Anyway, poor everyone who never went to Harvard…

Preface 14

I can say things that are not going to cheer anyone up…

Like, “most poets don’t have any dick or balls under their skirts…”

But then I start to feel like a #1 Jackass…

I can only write a poem if it has some punishment in it…

But… I have given too many unfulfilled promises of revenge…

Preface 19

I do not think anything is so hard in life until I am denied a treat or a gift…

And then I understand that my life is, in fact, unhappy and meaningless.

How can a person feel so meaningless and yet fail to disappear from the earth?

Every day this is a question.

If you have to ask something, ask why poetry does not exist…

Preface 33

I liked my mentor…

I would try to grab onto his sweaters but it was nothing…

It was like a sumptuous near-moment…

I want someone to kiss the inside of my wrist and then throw it down…

Because that is the hard detachment of a mentor…

Preface 46

It feels like there is a goodliness in suffering…

And that is why I go against so many things in life…

I have gone against many things in life…

And it has always been rewarding…

But none so much as when I have gone against my mentor!

Clown

It seems that I’m growing more and more like a clown.  First of all, I’m always sad.  Secondly, all my knives are made out of rubber.  Thirdly, it’s like my house is on fire.

No, I’m definitely becoming more like a clown.  I have a tendency to want to put on clown clothes.  As soon as I put the clown clothes on I feel faintly happier…

Another sign is that I constantly feel like I’m alone in a dressing room.  Most of the time I feel amused.  Anyway, the only thing good about the circus is the tigers.

I realize that I could get both legs cut off by the circus train or get frightened by an elephant.  But it’s very depressing to sit around in a clown suit and think about death.

Sometimes I don’t feel happy unless I’m in my clown suit.  And I enjoy hitting people on the head with a foam club.  I really do…

When people see me they realize that it looks very sophisticated to wear a clown suit and smoke a cigarette.  This is how I get all the ladies because they think I’m very droll.

People don’t understand how you turn into a clown.  You turn into a clown because you feel more and more like putting on a clown suit.  When You’re around people you sense a kindliness.  It makes you so nervous you can’t stay calm.  Which is why it feels perfectly normal to wear orange pants.

Plus, it’s very subversive to wear bow ties.  You can’t imagine how jolly everything is.  And the fright wigs… I don’t want to be a clown but I’m sure to be one.  My mother was a clown.

P. Chelsey

P. Chelsey doesn’t like parties.  Her state of mind is usually bad.  She tries to eat hors d’oeuvres.  Of course she wants to get drunk and berate everyone.  But P. Chelsey has ahold of herself and things are going to be O.K.

If P. Chelsey likes anyone she follows them around and stands right behind them.  When she pretends to talk to people, she is really just taking more and more sips of wine.  If P. Chelsey doesn’t like someone, she can never forgive them.  P. Chelsey hates people for turning their back to her right after saying something nice.  She also hates them for staring at her too long with haunted looks in their eye.  Sometimes people giver her too many compliments at the beginning of the night.  Then there is nothing to say for the rest of the night.

P. Chelsey hates people who look at her pityingly and have bad breath.  People wonder where her psychiatrist is.  P. Chelsey tries to be patient with her psychiatrist, but a psychiatrist cannot be reasoned with.  As it stands the psychiatrist is usually not at his office.

13

You are dead on the red shag carpet and the fish tank is shattered…

You can feel fine now because you are finally dead.  And that is good enough for you & you don’t even care about the fish…

One of your shoes fell off and your expression became very annoyed after you were dead.

But you don’t have to look good now… And you don’t have to be in love…

You don’t have to feel like a ridiculous person constantly made fun of by a parrot…

All you have to do is continue being dead…

You’re not so lucky but you don’t need to be lucky ever again…

Dung Cart

I like poetry but it is a dung cart.  I like being in love but that is a dung cart too.  I have to be content with things that are dung carts although I really want something that is not a dung cart.  Something that will allow me to live when my frivolousness is like death…

Unfortunately for me, everything is going to be called a dung cart.  Such as: kissing someone and then not listening to what they’re saying.  I don’t care what they’re saying! They’re a businessman! A businessman is not a dung cart…

I am always thinking of a dung cart.  Dung is neatly piled on it! Even if I look around I can still see clearly that everything is a dung cart & I too am a dung cart.

Dung cart after dung cart rolling by……..

Anyway, I like dung carts.  My favorite things are dung carts.  Dung carts with dung falling off them.

SAD-O

My sadness feels like heavy earrings that makes my head ache.

Someday I would like to spend too much money on a shag rug so that I could lie down upon it and not smell one scent from my childhood.

When I’m about to get angry, that’s when I start to feel good…

I stare out the window, unprincipled as a tiger…

If anyone tries to comfort me I will vomit on the balustrade.

If anyone asks me why I’m like this I will say “im gon tu kil u!!!”

As a child I totally squandered my love on my parents and was, as a result, crucified on a cross.

I will spit out my food if anyone tries to imply anything…

Sometimes an arrow starts to come out of my head like I’m bored I’m bored. And then another arrow comes out like I want to read a book I want to read a book

I try to stay bored for a while but then I start to become amused…

I want to put makeup on people’s eyes so they can look like damned darlings…

People keep talking… But it is hard to stop them when I only want to be petted… I can barely listen to what they’re talking about.  They’re talking about someone who wants them…
_______________

Her poetry makes me feel like this:

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