the pornography of the self

July 21, 2008 at 6:28 pm | Posted in writing | 23 Comments
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I have a red rubber nose and bright red fingernails,
a green felt hat and an oversized geranium.
I have a history of Abbie Hoffman,
a box full of astonishing connecticons,
assistance apparent from mysterious sources,
a Chinese Puzzle Box
and several spies with flowerpot eyes but
because you asked so nicely,

(the grass is damp but
i will still sit on it i
have a new book of
written by worldfamous
masters of modern haikuschmaiku
so i will sit
on the damp grass
on my fat arse
and read it.)

I could be waving a polkadot flag and creating revolutions of clownish mayhem, throwing flour bombs at the smugly complacent and confabulating the hypocritical but because you asked so nicely I will just sit here on this damp grass staring blankly into a mute mirror and practise the pornography of the self. 

“Revolution is not something fixed in ideology, nor is it something fashioned to a particular decade. It is a perpetual process embedded in the human spirit.” Abbie Hoffman



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  1. Awww damn it Paul! I spewed coffee all over my monitor. Miss me? Of course you did. Silly question. When do we get to the confabulating of the navel part? if you’re gonna commune with nature ya gotta do it right. 😛
    Silly question, of course I missed you. I will pop over and confabulate your navel asap, Lakota.

  2. Ooo, satircal. I love this, this is really clever. We really should wave flags and create revolutions… but it’s too hard, and I’ve got stuff to do…
    Haha, now hopefully your comment is satirical too, woohoo,

  3. I am so tempted to be cheeky here but I don’t want to be censored. Your pornography of self, viewed from either angle, is compulsive viewing. You know when clowns have those buckets that they go to throw on the crowd and the crowd all scream and then laugh when they find out it is merely glitter dust to thrill them? You can never take it for granted though cos one day you might just get soaked, so I choose the seat in the middle somewhere, out of harms way but close enough to appreciate all of the experience.

    Damp grass is the best kind, in my opinion.
    Caution, clown approaching. Did you know fear of clowns is reaching epidemic proportions? It is taking over from fear of spiders and the dark for some bizarre reason, hello,

  4. This can apply to so many things:

    “It is a perpetual process embedded in the human spirit.”
    Yes it can. It was a surprisingly deep quote from Abbie, the prankster,

  5. Your taking poetry’s hand and drawing it across its own wrist? Sort of rude, Paul.
    Jeremy, hello, thankyou for commenting. That made me smile, the commenting and the comment. Thankyou,

  6. ALL revolution os a revolution of clowns
    we force change when change is inevitable
    we shout and clamour and wave our polka dot flags
    sprinkle red confetti as we dance
    and in the end
    clowns hiding buckets of water behind their backs wave at adoring crowds
    soon to be soaked
    Perfect, Oz, that is a cool poem right on target,

  7. fascinating
    As are you, Tipota. Soon I will be harassing you to indulge in the pornography of the self, who are you, haha, no I won’t, but I am fascinated.

  8. “Every revolutionary ends up either by becoming an oppressor or a heretic.” – Albert Camus

    Ahem, this is no giggling matter, young lady. This is serious business we are talking about clowns, I mean revolution. Camus is right which is why revolution should be constant. As soon as it succeeds it must start again. The Chinese combined this Taoist thought with Marxism and came up with Mao who was doing alright until his wife got involved but that is a whole nother story, have a closer look at my geranium…squirttttttttt…………..hahahahahahahahahahaha

  9. ^^LMAO @ Paul^^
    oh and honey – my navel is a work of art and may take many, many hours of confabulating.

    it’s just a dang navel. An innie even, a sunken hole, holding nothing.
    No secrets of the universe hidden in there. (i don’t think), but that was simply too delish to resist saying. 😛 ~pouncing for a much needed hug~
    that which holds nothing is perfect for confabulating, (Lakota)

  10. Paul, a small thing, but ever since I argued with this rapist fellow I had the displeasure of knowing, and being insulted by in I admit the most creative of ways, I’ve asked around if philosophy is a bad thing when it goes by such a name. Doesn’t everything have some ideology, and doesn’t it dilute the shit when it gives it a name, when it goes so far into the formal world that it feels the need to designate itself?

    Why when reading your lunacy do I always feel you’ve said or tried to say something profound and cover it up with said gentle lunacy?

    Still, as I’m in a better mood, the first strophe of this is the best considering your eclectic mix of styles. I don’t like the last because it’s a paragraph with good measure line breaks, and I don’t like the second because you have i and parenthesis, but it’s because of this that I get that dread feeling you’ve said something with poetry and I have the fucking burden to figure it out.

    Why can’t you be polite and just sip tea with the internet and talk about your problems? And so no uptempo chump motherfucker strolls along, hands in pockets, and feels the need to reply to me, I am asking Paul in what I hope he sees as pleasant humor.
    Haha, My best guess answers to your questions are, (a) yes, (b) because i am (b.5) shoulder your burden, it is yours and (c) because i have no problems, that is my burden.
    And don’t worry I can recognise your very occassional pleasant humour. Rage on, Jeremy,

  11. Staring blankly at a mute mirror instead of throwing flour bombs at the complacent. Flour bombs are so innocuous, yet so messy. I don’t see why not. Staring blankly at a mute mirror is so, so hopeless and sad, though probably very Zen.
    hopeless and sad, indeed. Helloooooooooo,

  12. grrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
    i haz very sharp pointy weapons Paul, please can i use them? prettyprettyprettypretty please?
    Why, what did I do? No need for weapons, Lakota. Everybody here is harmless. Relax,

  13. The mute mirror, I tend to fondle.
    Hello, Molly, thanks for visiting, oh and have you read Tipota (spaces between trees). I think you would enjoy each others writing.

  14. Don’t tell me the pornography is not amusing 😀 …

    Life didn’t come with a rule book anyway…
    Yes, it is and it doesn’t, you have Mental Misted me again,

  15. I have a guitar that reads THIS MACHINE KILLS FASCISTS in tribute to Woody Guthrie. I don’t play with little dimpled balls in ugly clothes on a flat or rolling lawn. I dig rock n roll and I taught Kid Rock how to be cool. I have a Scot broadsword and an Irish temper. I have a half empty bottle of cognac. I like Californication by the Chili Peppers, is that porn? O.K., I was just shitting about Kid Rock, don’t even know him. But the rest is true. Only the names were changed to protect the guilty.
    Haha, F.G., rage on,

  16. Paul, you must come play Taxi on my new video post by Harry Chapin, the song reminds me so much of your work, it is one of my favorites, missed it somewhere, found it again, so good to hear again, try it.
    Ahh, that is a great song. I had forgotten all about it but you have reminded me. I shall go listen,

  17. love the whole concept of this particularly the title. i wonder what you see when you look in that mirror.
    Lissa!, you’re back, yayayayaya, hello,

  18. amazing…it is early in the morning here, even after an hour of playful snuggling with my young child and some hot tea, foggy too, sun promises

    which is to say that i am not thinking too hard with this poem just keeping it in that in and out of concousness place, letting it rollover and through me, feeling the wet grass, and letting its coolness soak in

    btw i just retreived a silk turquise polka dot scarf which would love to be a flag; let me know when and where to join you for some waving–possibly the orchid room? after the bar closes?
    woohoo, let’s do that. i’ll see you there. did you see Peter’s new Orchid Room piece. Beautiful.

  19. …can’t help but to smile…. if it were only that simple… makeup!!!!…remember milton berle..
    I do, there is an uncanny resemblance, hahaha, hello, and thankyou so much for all your comments, I wish I had time to go back and answer all of them, I read them all and they are, as usual, schimply schplendiferous, thankyou

  20. Laughing my ass off. You slay me.

  21. hi paul, love the clown, love the wet grass, the revolution, the philosophy. i read all the comments; you’ve got my wheels turning. very nice wednesday evening snack for my week to feast on. happy to be back home, yawn, stretch…ohsotired. ohsoglad to have internet whenever i damn well feel like it. lol. i don’t think there are as many bloggers up in Gakona, Alaska
    Haha, welcome back. You had a wonderful trip and caught a huge fishyfish yayayaya,

  22. LOL about fat arse and haikuschmaiku. I’m sort of in the schmaiku camp myself. Need to start an anti-haiku revolution. Let’s unravel their syllables and start connecting their disparate natural elements, through a bucket of hot lava on their serenity.

  23. Should say “throw” a bucket of lava. Hmm. Not very yogic of me. Oh well. Sometimes we have to play against character and stereotype.
    Yes indeed, Christine, very healthy and good for the writing and the spirit,

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