Goldilocks' Discontent
.original too-long poem
.
with art
by these other humans
.
honorary ending of
Infernal Interstate series
Important Introduction!
Yada-yada-yada. Then you can discuss how fascinating it is to write poems in this manner, making sure to let the readers know this is the 5th part in a five part series—so hold onto your seat, it's gonna be a wild ride. Something about paradoxes and the absurd; something about the abstruse virtues of the surreal. A subtle apology about the length it takes to do all this (while not really being sorry), with some more things previously forgotten tacked on so it gets even longer. Further gesticulation about what the hell "sarcosmic" means, anyway, for people that can't reverse engineer pretty obvious portmanteaus, and really—whatever else elegantly insubstantial you can manage to squeeze in that sounds impressive and just confusing enough that people have to read it more than once, but eloquent enough that they're convinced it means something pretty deep, anyways.
Yeah, that should do the trick. So enjoy the poem, then!
Goldilocks' Discontent
Hellacious Highway series: Part 5? Bonus Feature?!
Frantic twiddling of knobs,
changes in temperature—
lax superpositions
in varying states of aliveness.
Needless rotors:
the clankings of ancient war-reverbrations.
Flashlit-knitting of industry,
an abysmal guardian of wheeling torches.
Hypnotized by my own song
of quavering thrushes,
trials of interactions and solitudes
divided by the flippancy of weather.
Straits are built
by staring in one place for too long.
Spectres,
iridescent, ill-intented,
are born in the eyes
in the back of my head.
My side eyes
go blind from static,
hammering shark drums.
The ovoid eyeballs of my elbows
make friends with
whichever happens to be the closest fabric.
Whatever is highest
becomes a skyscraper.
Dinosaurs dream
of my smartphone
in peat bogs.
For them,
I am the most
god-awful nightmare:
bludgeoning their crude skulls
with inane mutterings—
(whimpering something
about mutant cornbread
in the prehistoric night.)
I laugh;
my nightmares are whitewashed
with one of many kinds of stupidity.
With the ribbons
of a rarer, more expensive type of stupidity,
I tie up homecoming presents
in a cute little bow
and the prettiest tinsel I can find
in the cluttered basement of my cerebellum.
I'm playing white elephant
with the chemical truck in front of me;
someone I can't see and who doesn't exist
hands me a package—
filled with bits
of the most impressive rubbish.
I make an incredulous sound
that becomes its own universe:
it creates me, making me
far more incredulous
than it ever was.
Not out of spite:
artistic editing.
Out the windows of doubt
I wear garments where jumbled numbers
were scrawled by some illiterate ogre.
Actually, they were some kind of sign—
in an angled tongue guttural with chasms
I prefer to pretend not to understand.
Writing mediocre verse:
transcendent toddling
of the arrhythmic.
There's too many
goddamn confounding variables;
So I haven't changed the setting
on the air conditioning
in quite some time.
Written by
@d-pend
10/10/18
.
Art by
."Goldilocks" by Pancake-mix
"The Goldilocks Zone" by meluseena
"Goldilocks - Horror Edition by DragonianFantasy
I might include the rough audio recording tomorrow that created this if people want to hear it. Gotta go to sleep now! Oh yeah, hope the pictures aren't too disturbing. I thought they were hilarious, but I'm in that tired state where odd things are funny. Actually, that's probably just my strange sense of humor........