We Need A Revolution In Literature!

[WolfLarsen]

Darcy spoke of standards. The standards of the publishing conglomerates and their endless subsidiaries are based on economic potential. Quality is irrelevant to the publishing conglomerates. They are also for the most part allergic to innovative literature, because publishing innovative literature is economically risky. Manuscripts are evaluated and published according to their economic potential.

There are exceptions to this. But for the most part that's how it works. It's all about the money. Publishing conglomerates are no different than the conglomerates in any other field. Publishing for the six sisters is an economic activity, not a creative one. The only standard is money.

The Internet is our savior. Thanks to the Internet we don't need the publishing conglomerates anymore. The purpose of the publishing conglomerates is to produce cheap thrills in the form of airport novels, sort of like the reading version of watching television. Sort of like the reading version of junk food. Is there really much difference between the big publishing corporations and McDonald's, Burger King, Taco Bell, White Castle, etc.?

It's all about money. The only standard is money.

Have a nice evening. Hope you arrived on time for work.

[Drkshadow03]

The Internet is our savior. Thanks to the Internet we don't need the publishing conglomerates anymore. The purpose of the publishing conglomerates is to produce cheap thrills in the form of airport novels, sort of like the reading version of watching television. Sort of like the reading version of junk food. Is there really much difference between the big publishing corporations and McDonald's, Burger King, Taco Bell, White Castle, etc.?

You know, for someone shouting a call for originality and innovation it's rather ironic that you're reaching for the tired old metaphor of comparing commercial fiction to fast food that has literally proliferated these forums hundreds of times, usually employed by the snobbish establishment types protecting the "good" unassailable literary canon from the likes of Harry Potter, Stephen King, and Twilight.

[Mutatis-Mutandis]

Hill here the topic is not about innovativeness. It is all about resilience and variety. Wolf’s appeal is to take literature on a revolutionary track whereas you have chosen the old classic path. Maybe posterity wants something different. Today’s world is rather different and today’s world does not choose the language of Shakespeare and Milton. They are text-messaging and their style of writing will not pedantic which you may expect of them. What is more Literature comes from migrants and colonial countries too and now your sense of purism has gone awry and the center cannot hold. I mean the old dictums of Britain and America cannot satisfy us. English literature comes from Africa and India and that is why you must be ready to give it a certain degree of liberty. Think twice H

And as I walked through the valley of discourse clouded over in a vale of pedantry and pettiness, lo the mists lifted, and before stood me, like Goya's Goliath looming over all man, the largest straw man I've ever seen, so massive I could barely see the barn-sized head! 'Twas a sight!

The Internet is our savior.

He's right. Why, just today a friend showed me a website that lets one rate women's breasts.

[Darcy88]

And as I walked through the valley of discourse clouded over in a vale of pedantry and pettiness, lo the mists lifted, and before stood me, like Goya's Goliath looming over all man, the largest straw man I've ever seen, so massive I could barely see the barn-sized head! 'Twas a sight!
.

Excellent.

And Wolf.... sure, many of the monster publishing houses are the literary equivalent of Mcdonalds and KFC. But you ignore the smaller publishers who are akin to gourmet restaurants, turning out quality books for readers with taste. Even Penguin publishes the innovative literature of the past, regardless of its political or moral deviance.

Its like contemporary music. Turn on a tv or radio and you will hear only commercial trash, noise devoid of art. Sony and Geffen go for what sells and saturate us with it. But there are also smaller independent labels signing great underground bands. Even if these bands don't get top 40 airplay some of them still manage to gather legions of fans.

You are taking specifics and making them absolutes. If you want to sell a million books then yes, your work better conform, better be fluffy and without edge. But if your goal is to be read by the select group of astute literature lovers out there then all you have to do is write quality work. You can add as much vulgarity and defy as many conventions as you want, so long as its of quality it will succeed, if not immediately then eventually.

You have these sweeping statements utterly lacking substantiation. "The canon contains many mediocre works!" Which are those? "There are writers on the internet better than Shakespeare!" Show us.

[JuniperWoolf]

I'm a bit annoyed at myself for reading the entire OP. You've got to try to be more concise and stop repeating yourself because your goal in writing it is buried in completely useless rehashing. I'm not talking about whether your points are "good" or not, but that entire essay could have easily been efficiently conveyed in three or four paragraphs.

Then again, maybe that was your great "innovation" going over my head.

[Darcy88]

Also, I don't understand why you feel we need more vulgarity. Why cheapen sex? Why devalue a gold coin into pennies? One need not be a prude to value some measure of modesty and decorum. There's a reason people make love in private. Splash sex everywhere and it loses its sacred dimension and is no longer special.

[WolfLarsen]

Somebody requested something more concise than the essay. Well here you go:

THE WOLF LARSEN MANIFESTO

1. All great Writers should gather at the entrances of the major publishing houses and urinate on their doorsteps!

2. All great Poets should use the pages of the country’s most prestigious literary magazines as toilet paper!

3. All contemporary “poets” that rhyme should be castrated at once!

4. Poetry and prose should be immoral and blasphemous! If your poetry shocks and offends religious extremists, puritanical feminists, politicians, black nationalists, white supremacists, and everybody else than you’re probably doing something right! The paintings of Picasso, the symphonies of Mahler, and the sculptures of Rodin shocked and offended many people too! The last thing the world needs is more boring polite “literature”!

5. If you write prose just like ten thousand other writers than why bother writing? Garbage men contribute far more to society than “writers” and “poets” that write like everybody else! No two authors or poets should read even remotely alike!

6. From this day forward the words Poet, Writer, Sculptor, Playwright, Painter, Composer, and all other Artists should appear in capitals. After all, some guy named god who doesn’t even exist appears in capitals and since Artists are greater than god than words like Poet and Artist should be capitalized.

7. There is no god as written in the bible. Rather, every Human Being that lives on earth is a god because Humans are the most creative animals on the planet. Therefore, Artists are gods!

8. Who cares about the rules of grammar? Take a baseball bat and SMASH the rules of grammar into pieces! Language must obey the wishes of the Writer. The Writer should take language and mold it and reshape it as he sees fit just like a Sculptor.

9. Poets and Writers need to look at the rest of the art world and learn. Poetry and fiction currently appear to be the most backward mediums of the art world. Painting has raced forward like a fast car, jazz music has run forward like a rabbit, even classical music in the last hundred years has left the writing world behind in both innovation and boldness. Writing and poetry are progressing forward at a crawl – just like a snail. All Poets and Writers should think of themselves as wrecking ball operators – we must SMASH the literary world as we know it into bits with a bold and revolutionary writing!

10. The system we live under has nothing to offer but endless wars, prisons, poverty, homophobia, racial and gender discrimination, class oppression, anti-sex puritanism, and human extinction from nuclear war. The literary establishment has nothing to offer us but airport novels, censorship (in the form of political correctness), pretentious “literary” magazines filled with hack “poetry” that sometimes even rhymes, and the never ending boring banal “well-polished” “well-crafted” “literary” fiction whose main purpose seems to be to help insomniacs fall asleep. Bartok’s symphonies don’t help people fall asleep! Igor Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring caused a riot when it was first played! Jackson Pollock’s paintings can hardly be considered sleepy! Poetry and literature must become explosive, chaotic, alive, exciting, dynamic, etc. – just like the times we live in!

11. More than anything else remember there is no one else like you on the entire planet! So why should you write like everybody else? Write like nobody else writes! If you’re not creative than why should future generations bother reading your writing? Every Writer should be his own literary movement! Every Writer should be his own literary revolution!

[Darcy88]

This would have been timely 150 years ago. Now its just trite and a little sad.

[Mutatis-Mutandis]

Somebody requested something more concise than the essay. Well here you go:

THE WOLF LARSEN MANIFESTO

1. All great Writers should gather at the entrances of the major publishing houses and urinate on their doorsteps!

2. All great Poets should use the pages of the country’s most prestigious literary magazines as toilet paper!

3. All contemporary “poets” that rhyme should be castrated at once!

4. Poetry and prose should be immoral and blasphemous! If your poetry shocks and offends religious extremists, puritanical feminists, politicians, black nationalists, white supremacists, and everybody else than you’re probably doing something right! The paintings of Picasso, the symphonies of Mahler, and the sculptures of Rodin shocked and offended many people too! The last thing the world needs is more boring polite “literature”!

5. If you write prose just like ten thousand other writers than why bother writing? Garbage men contribute far more to society than “writers” and “poets” that write like everybody else! No two authors or poets should read even remotely alike!

6. From this day forward the words Poet, Writer, Sculptor, Playwright, Painter, Composer, and all other Artists should appear in capitals. After all, some guy named god who doesn’t even exist appears in capitals and since Artists are greater than god than words like Poet and Artist should be capitalized.

7. There is no god as written in the bible. Rather, every Human Being that lives on earth is a god because Humans are the most creative animals on the planet. Therefore, Artists are gods!

8. Who cares about the rules of grammar? Take a baseball bat and SMASH the rules of grammar into pieces! Language must obey the wishes of the Writer. The Writer should take language and mold it and reshape it as he sees fit just like a Sculptor.

9. Poets and Writers need to look at the rest of the art world and learn. Poetry and fiction currently appear to be the most backward mediums of the art world. Painting has raced forward like a fast car, jazz music has run forward like a rabbit, even classical music in the last hundred years has left the writing world behind in both innovation and boldness. Writing and poetry are progressing forward at a crawl – just like a snail. All Poets and Writers should think of themselves as wrecking ball operators – we must SMASH the literary world as we know it into bits with a bold and revolutionary writing!

10. The system we live under has nothing to offer but endless wars, prisons, poverty, homophobia, racial and gender discrimination, class oppression, anti-sex puritanism, and human extinction from nuclear war. The literary establishment has nothing to offer us but airport novels, censorship (in the form of political correctness), pretentious “literary” magazines filled with hack “poetry” that sometimes even rhymes, and the never ending boring banal “well-polished” “well-crafted” “literary” fiction whose main purpose seems to be to help insomniacs fall asleep. Bartok’s symphonies don’t help people fall asleep! Igor Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring caused a riot when it was first played! Jackson Pollock’s paintings can hardly be considered sleepy! Poetry and literature must become explosive, chaotic, alive, exciting, dynamic, etc. – just like the times we live in!

11. More than anything else remember there is no one else like you on the entire planet! So why should you write like everybody else? Write like nobody else writes! If you’re not creative than why should future generations bother reading your writing? Every Writer should be his own literary movement! Every Writer should be his own literary revolution!

12. The more exclamation points, the better!

[Bewlay Brother]

Somebody requested something more concise than the essay. Well here you go:

THE WOLF LARSEN MANIFESTO

1. All great Writers should gather at the entrances of the major publishing houses and urinate on their doorsteps!

2. All great Poets should use the pages of the country’s most prestigious literary magazines as toilet paper!

3. All contemporary “poets” that rhyme should be castrated at once!

4. Poetry and prose should be immoral and blasphemous! If your poetry shocks and offends religious extremists, puritanical feminists, politicians, black nationalists, white supremacists, and everybody else than you’re probably doing something right! The paintings of Picasso, the symphonies of Mahler, and the sculptures of Rodin shocked and offended many people too! The last thing the world needs is more boring polite “literature”!

5. If you write prose just like ten thousand other writers than why bother writing? Garbage men contribute far more to society than “writers” and “poets” that write like everybody else! No two authors or poets should read even remotely alike!

6. From this day forward the words Poet, Writer, Sculptor, Playwright, Painter, Composer, and all other Artists should appear in capitals. After all, some guy named god who doesn’t even exist appears in capitals and since Artists are greater than god than words like Poet and Artist should be capitalized.

7. There is no god as written in the bible. Rather, every Human Being that lives on earth is a god because Humans are the most creative animals on the planet. Therefore, Artists are gods!

8. Who cares about the rules of grammar? Take a baseball bat and SMASH the rules of grammar into pieces! Language must obey the wishes of the Writer. The Writer should take language and mold it and reshape it as he sees fit just like a Sculptor.

9. Poets and Writers need to look at the rest of the art world and learn. Poetry and fiction currently appear to be the most backward mediums of the art world. Painting has raced forward like a fast car, jazz music has run forward like a rabbit, even classical music in the last hundred years has left the writing world behind in both innovation and boldness. Writing and poetry are progressing forward at a crawl – just like a snail. All Poets and Writers should think of themselves as wrecking ball operators – we must SMASH the literary world as we know it into bits with a bold and revolutionary writing!

10. The system we live under has nothing to offer but endless wars, prisons, poverty, homophobia, racial and gender discrimination, class oppression, anti-sex puritanism, and human extinction from nuclear war. The literary establishment has nothing to offer us but airport novels, censorship (in the form of political correctness), pretentious “literary” magazines filled with hack “poetry” that sometimes even rhymes, and the never ending boring banal “well-polished” “well-crafted” “literary” fiction whose main purpose seems to be to help insomniacs fall asleep. Bartok’s symphonies don’t help people fall asleep! Igor Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring caused a riot when it was first played! Jackson Pollock’s paintings can hardly be considered sleepy! Poetry and literature must become explosive, chaotic, alive, exciting, dynamic, etc. – just like the times we live in!

11. More than anything else remember there is no one else like you on the entire planet! So why should you write like everybody else? Write like nobody else writes! If you’re not creative than why should future generations bother reading your writing? Every Writer should be his own literary movement! Every Writer should be his own literary revolution!

I liked your essay a lot more than this.

Prose and poetry should be immoral and blasphemous? No problem against either of those, but the way you say it promotes doing it for the sake of it which is the WORST TYPE OF ART POSSIBLE. There is NOTHING worse than an "artist" who gets off on shock value. You might as well say that Lady Gaga is as good or better than David Bowie. Even though the talent and creativity disparity between Bowie and Gaga is larger than the difference between [Marlon Brando+Al Pacino+Tom Hanks+Jimmy Stewart] and [Keanu Reeves].

The system we live under has nothing to offer but endless wars, prisons, poverty, homophobia, racial and gender discrimination, class oppression, anti-sex puritanism, and human extinction from nuclear war.

I see an interesting omission from this list. Here, I just threw together a quick little poem for you. Tell me what you think.


Cause and effect, and I speak not of a birth defect
I am referring to the result of selfishness and neglect
Overflowing humanity - the life you select!

I prefer a dance with circumstance
The unheard voices would agree with my stance
The conscience cradling lies desensitize the muffled cries
And isolate killing with formality from morality
The morally abject yet politically correct genocide
The constant deprivation of life to maintain pride plus the unbridled ride
Gives birth to the trampled and worthless race

A living entity is meant to be
No matter what you choose the classification on the dog tag to be


I have an idea of what your opinion will be. I hope I'm wrong.

[WolfLarsen]

Somebody asked me about shock value. The thing is let's suppose the artist or writer is just doing his thing, that is he is creating his art. He may not find it his work particularly shocking. What he is doing is creating art or literature.

Later when others are viewing his painting or reading his literature they criticize the piece saying it is too shocking, or that he is just seeking shock value. But on the contrary the artist or writer maybe just trying to express himself. And maybe the problem is that a conservative viewer of a painting or a conservative reader of a work of literature has an adverse reaction because that conservative reader is simply to sexually repressed or uptight. That conservative reader seeks to impose his conservative view upon the writer, which is just plain wrong! The writer must be free to express himself! This is a problem that artists and writers have had over and over again, the freedom to express themselves!

At other times the writer or artist may simply want to rebel against certain puritanical or conservative aspects of the literary and artistic worlds. The literary world is quite conservative and puritanical, the literary world tries to impose a straitjacket upon the writer. Literature is wonderful, but the literary world itself is a rancid swamp filled with puritans who scream "shock value! Shock value!" whenever a piece of literature doesn't conform to their conservative point of view. I am of course talking about the literary world in general, and not about any particular individual.

Wolf Larsen

[WolfLarsen]

I've been asked by some posters to name specifically some poets whom I enjoy. The following are some innovative poets who I have enjoyed reading. All or virtually all of them are of the modern and postmodern periods.

The early poetry of Andrei Codrescu

all poetry by Russell Edson

the poem Political Intelligence by A. J. M. Smith

the poem Vision by Harry Crosby

Kitchen Poem by Francis Scarfe

Residence on Earth by Pablo Neruda

all poetry by Anne Sexton

all poetry by Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Rilke

all surrealist, dada-ist and Cubist poetry by any poet

sometimes works claiming to be postmodern are quite interesting, as long as they're not boring

the poem Yelu Apoki by Luo Zhicheng

the poem Apocalypse and Resurrection by John Bayliss

One Night Away from Day by John Digby

most poetry by October Paz, as long as it's translated decently, which sadly is often not the case

the poet Frank Lima

the poem Daybreak by Bert Meyers

the poem "I Am Writing You from a Distant Land" by Henri Michaux

A Can of Fish by Xia Yu Lying

the poem Homage to Hieronymus Bosch by Thomas McGreevy

the poetry of Edouard Roditi

the poetry of Yves Bonnefoy

SIX WAYS OF EATING A WATERMELON by Luo Qing

[Bewlay Brother]

Somebody asked me about shock value. The thing is let's suppose the artist or writer is just doing his thing, that is he is creating his art. He may not find it his work particularly shocking. What he is doing is creating art or literature.

Later when others are viewing his painting or reading his literature they criticize the piece saying it is too shocking, or that he is just seeking shock value. But on the contrary the artist or writer maybe just trying to express himself. And maybe the problem is that a conservative viewer of a painting or a conservative reader of a work of literature has an adverse reaction because that conservative reader is simply to sexually repressed or uptight. That conservative reader seeks to impose his conservative view upon the writer, which is just plain wrong! The writer must be free to express himself! This is a problem that artists and writers have had over and over again, the freedom to express themselves!

At other times the writer or artist may simply want to rebel against certain puritanical or conservative aspects of the literary and artistic worlds. The literary world is quite conservative and puritanical, the literary world tries to impose a straitjacket upon the writer. Literature is wonderful, but the literary world itself is a rancid swamp filled with puritans who scream "shock value! Shock value!" whenever a piece of literature doesn't conform to their conservative point of view. I am of course talking about the literary world in general, and not about any particular individual.

Wolf Larsen

Do your political views always influence what you write this much?

You have so much hatred for people who don't agree with you.

You didn't say what you thought of the poem I posted. Something tells me that it could be the most beautifully written poem ever but if it was negative about abortion than you would hate it regardless.

On the other hand, you'd probably like a mediocre poem if it glorified the barbaric and selfish act of abortion. I can entertain the argument that abortion is a necessary evil. That it is something that could, and should have been avoided, but wasn't. That is okay. There are a lot of things that happen because of human fault. But the people who herald abortion as some triumph in liberty or womens rights are inhumane.

The same goes for the whole gay thing. Lots of heterosexuals that are so hellbent on gay rights actually dehumanize gays. Have you ever watched Glee? It is a terrible show. You probably love it though because it tries so hard to push buttons. The show has no artistry at all. Well there is a character called Kurt, and he is one of the worst human beings you will ever see. And it has nothing to do with his sexuality. He is rude, belligerent, disrespectful, hateful, doesn't respect women, etc. In all honesty, he is so messed up that I really believe if he was in charge of the world he would have concentration camps for heterosexuals with signs saying "Sodomy Will Let you Free". Now there is nothing wrong with having an awful character, but they try and pass him off as a great beautiful person. Why? Because he is gay. Since he is gay, he is inherently superior and beautiful - more so than other human beings. One of the biggest parts of being an adult human being is that you are held responsible for your ACTIONS, and people base their opinion of you off of your ACTIONS. You deprive them of this human element just as you would if you called them "faggot".

Another way people unknowingly dehumanize gays is they think they are just that - gays. They aren't human beings who just happen to be gay. No. They are simply homosexuals - no more and no less. Glee does this too. All of Kurt's conflicts and breakthroughs hinge on him being gay. They are more than just homosexuals. They are people.

It is similar to people who voted for Obama SOLELY FOR THE FACT that he is black. They are just as bad as someone who didn't vote for Obama SOLELY FOR THE FACT that he is black. See a pattern?

Also I see you complain so much about Capitalism. So you'd rather have Collectivism? Do you have any idea how many people Collectivism has killed? Collectivism clashes with human nature irreparably. I don't see how anyone could seriously want to try it again.

[WolfLarsen]

The post by Bewlay Brother has nothing or little to do with this thread, and I ask him to please post that kind of stuff elsewhere. Thank you.

And now to move on. Earlier I commented that I came across some works on the Internet by relatively unknown writers whose work was far more creative than anything I read in 16 years of formal education (I have a BA in English literature). Other posters asked to read these works. I asked Benjamin Miller the author of "A Story about a Tree" for permission to post this story on this thread, and he was nice enough to agree.

A Story About A Tree
by Benjamin Miller


There was a tree once. You wouldn’t know about it. It was a long time ago in a place that doesn’t really exist. Yes, it was a fine tree. Sometimes it would sing songs no one ever heard. Sometimes it would fall when no one was around, but it would always get back up again. I would ask people if they knew the tree I was talking about. They would be strangers in coffee shops, or perhaps homeless people on the subway. Some would give me a funny look, while others stared off into nothingness remembering some tree they met at a party somewhere, or maybe in a doctor’s office. Still, no one seemed to have ever known my tree.

This led me to believe I was the only one who knew my particular tree. Being a rational person, I realized it was all in my head. That is when the headaches started…

I remember, quite fondly, the broken chair I was dancing on, in my apartment, when I came to know I was dying. The tree in my head began to press against my skull a little. Tiny drops of maple blood dripped out of my nose and onto my beloved chair. The blood filled one of its cracks and I wondered what the difference between the chair and I was.

I had to put those thoughts aside. There wasn’t enough room for both a maple tree and Buddhism in my head. I got a straw and sucked the words delicately out of my ear. I put them in a clear Tupperware in the fridge for later. I was careful not to mix these existential questions with things I had been wondering about the history of income tax. See if you mix the two it ruins the taste of both.

I found a piece of grassy floor and took a seat. I was going to die because of this maple tree. Even as I thought this, parts of my memories were showing signs of maple tree. For example, my brain seemed to be telling me that a giant pancake taught my kindergarten class, when in fact…. I guess it might have been a pancake. “Curse this maple tree,” I thought, “they’re not supposed to grow this fast.”

It just so happens that my mother’s uncle is a lumberjack and my grandmother’s cousin is a brain surgeon. I figured, maybe, if I could get them to mate, the offspring could save my life. So I reached into my pocket and withdrew my hand, a clean glistening new model. It was the latest in telecommunication. I pressed my thumb up to my ear and my pinkie up to my mouth and I spoke the secret code only telephone operators and other people know. I then sung the number for my mother-uncle lumberjack. There was a short pause as thousands of moments lined up in the past to make this one possible.
“Will cut trees for peas,” came an old gruff voice.

“Actually, I need you to have sex with someone,” I quickly rebuked as my forehead began to reach a new level of throbtasticness.

I could hear him on the other end weighing both Freud and his mother. Luckily, Freud hadn’t exercised in quite a while and so won out in the thigh region, though his mother had very large breasts. He asked what any good Freudian would ask after being abruptly propositioned “Will there be peas?”
“If by peas, you mean the story needs to progress, than yes there will,” I reasoned, slightly irate from the growing pain.

He seemed to agree the story had somewhere to be and he best help me get it there or there’d be no peas in the afterlife. This was good enough. Now all I needed was the brain surgeon and some mood lights and I’d be set. Luckily, my grandmother’s cousin lived in a box just outside my building so she would be easy to get.

If you’re wondering what a brain surgeon is doing living in a box it’s quite simple really. Most people had replaced their brains with more practical things. It would usually be a flag, or just more skin colour, but sometimes a sports team would do. Anyway, brain surgeons were practically obsolete.

I stepped outside my building expecting weather or something, but there was only a story teller’s express decision not to deal with it. As I walked across the front lawn, my neighbours asked me how I was doing. I set up a stage quickly and began to act out the maple’s presence on my mind. Unfortunately, the bastards didn’t stay for the second act. They muttered something about “who has time to care?” and ran off to televisions. My pride slightly wounded, I approached my favourite brain surgeon’s box.
“How are you doing?” I asked politely.

I looked closer to find she had age dripping out of scars all along her sandpaper body. Her eyes were glazed over jade. Her clothes were on the wrong side of a thin line between high fashion and garbage she had found in my bin. “I am well and yourself?” I could see she was reading chapter 48 of the classic “How to Be.”

“If you’re not too busy, would you mind very much conceiving a child for me?” I purposefully dropped a pea out of my pocket at this point to get her brain salivating.
She checked her schedule and replied, “I don’t see why not.”

Everything was coming together as I had hoped. I instructed her to wait in my apartment. She would be free to touch anything except a maple-bloody, broken chair which would give her a Buddhist brain rash if she wasn’t careful. We then went our separate ways. I headed towards a giant caterpillar, the new eco-friendly public transit, which was destined for the mood light grove on the other side of town. I boarded. I scanned the caterpillar for that one golden point farthest away from the nearest breathing thing. I found such an adequate bit of caterpillar. I lovingly kept my eyes sacred by not touching anyone else’s. That’s when it began.

I could see numbers counting down in front of me. They weren’t counting down in order. The maple was evicting my soul and it was giving a deadline. What a bastard. I began to cry a lovely breakfast condiment. This drew the attention of the other passengers. All of my hard work avoiding humanity for nothing. I accidentally established a basic minimal human connection with another passenger. This excited and surprised him so much that he died of a heart attack. This only made everyone else more curious. Plus the maple was starting to replace all of my ex-lovers with bushes. Deeply disturbing.

Everything was getting much darker and more cramped. All the other passengers seemed to get closer. I thought I was imagining it, but it turned out I was on the wrong caterpillar. This one wasn’t going to the mood light grove, it was cocooning itself. I looked around desperately for a way out, but could not find one. I had to act fast. I picked up the corpse of the human connection victim and began to use him as a shovel. The caterpillar was quick, but I had more to lose. Finally, I saw the light of afternoon and leapt for all I was worth. I landed on the ground, did an unnecessary barrel roll, then stood up just in time to see the caterpillar complete its cocoon and explode. Mother Nature’s little fireworks show. I saw some respectable fireflies walk by muttering racial slurs under their breath as they passed.

My late great friend lay dead beside me. It was a good thing too, the grove was almost entirely downhill. I fashioned him into a Randian toboggan and rode him all the way there. As I approached the grove, I forgot everything I knew about food engineering—which I had spent three hundred years studying—and could only think about how much I hated termites. The numbers continued to count down. I managed to stick my fingers down my throat and cause the oozy, thoughtful mass of distractions to project from my mouth onto the side of the road.

I ran into the grove and attempted to pick out the mood lights that would most likely lead to cavorting. I found a lovely pair of reds which smelled of Buicks and settled on those. I paid nature’s landlord for the bulbs and tried to hail a taxi. Unfortunately, I could only think of planting my feet in the ground and standing still. This proved to be a problem, and all of the sudden I felt much sympathy for the plight of trees who dreamt of one day being an Olympic sprinter. I made a mental note to check with my constitutional lawyer what was being done to rectify the situation.

No taxies came, so I started running. I ran clear across town and made it back to my apartment without being a bystander in more than three crimes (my moral limit). I arrived just as the sun began to tiredly tell the sky off. I breathlessly climbed the 47 1/3 stairs to my floor, sweating rich Canadian syrup all the way up.

I swung the door open just in time to see my two convenient lovers dressed as purple rabbits, one atop another. The shock of my entrance caused the one on top to have a bit of a full body spasm. I could tell through the bunny mask this disappointed the one on the bottom. There was no need for the mood lights after all. I turned my back as they cleaned themselves off. I plugged the mood lights in. Decidedly, I’m not going to wait for cavorting to have mood. I was satisfied with the red.

“Now what?” Asked the lumberjack.
“Now we wait,” said the brain surgeon, ever the medical professional.
I didn’t want to be a bad host so I went into the kitchen looking for a festive thought. I scanned the existentialist rack, nothing. I skimmed the German idealist drawer, nothing. Then I saw a bottle of something I had purchased on vacation:
This world will be better for our children.
“ahhh, a vintage,” I thought.

I walked back in my living room to find my guests discussing the similarities between shrubs and political ad campaigns. I handed them each a glass and we toasted the tree-brain-cutter-to-be.
“You realize it will take nine months,” the surgeon said after a satisfied gulp.

I had forgotten to factor that into the equation. The numbers were counting down increasingly quickly, and increasingly sporadically. Additionally, it was getting much harder to ignore the branches growing out of my scalp. I began to hyperventilate, but this only helped the tree. I began to shout a series of unrelated truisms hoping common sense could cure reality. Unfortunately, as a rule, it can’t. I started yelling things that didn’t make any sense. A chorus of monkeys typing on computers surrounded us. I just hoped God was in one of those machines.

“Time is irrelevant,” I eventually shouted. Just like that, Father Time, who had been watching with an amused look on his face in the corner of the room, started to cry like a hurt school boy and leapt out the nearest window. Three ticks later, the baby popped out and grew into a perfect plot device.
Anyway, it turns out that the tree was just looking for a local park and had accidentally ended up on my brain. We removed it carefully and everyone was relieved. Well, except Father Time… he had issues.

Copyright 2011 by Benjamin Miller

[Darcy88]

Wolf you refute yourself by posting your favourite poets, many of whom have achieved great literary success. And I could add to your list of innovators. The list would go for miles.

Its not being puritanical and conservative when others dislike having penises and vaginas and semen shoved in their faces. Its called decency. Its called valuing sex as a sacred thing. Vulgar writing can be great writing, but we don't need all writing to be so.

I guess I should stop posting in this thread. Nothing that I say seems to have any impact on you.