Posts Tagged arrow poems

Ten of Diamonds: Another Perspective


Here are some more arrow poems. Click the poems for pdf versions you can enlarge and copy the text from.

Free to take whatever's scattered along my path. To push past all the obstacles I can barely see, without a hearth to shackle me. Collectors come To recover debt as I slip away, homeless, lost to the bad guys. I have been left to enjoy life, however I wish. //  However I wish to enjoy life, I have been left to the bad guys, homeless, lost. As I slip away to recover, debt collectors come to shackle me. Without a hearth I can barely see to push past all the obstacles scattered along my path to take whatever's free.

Two of those  crowd-pleasing folks to counteract the depressing quiet. Now they'll go. Fairly soon: funny songs that they're pretending we all like (at first) on monkeys philosophising, performed by the main act. // The main act performed by philosophising on monkeys. At first, we all like pretending that they're funny songs. Fairly soon they'll go quiet, now depressing folks to counteract the crowd-pleasing of those two.

As promised, I got Jonathan Coulton and Paul and Storm to pick the cards this week. Jonathan chose Richard Stockton, and Paul chose first the European shorthair cat, and then the Golden Gate National Parks card on behalf of Storm, who had just gone to do something else at the time. I’m fairly sure Paul and Storm are entangled, so I accept this as a valid Storm choice.

I read that there’s a large homeless population in Golden Gate Park, and also that European shorthairs are not popular outside of Scandinavia because they resemble a lot of homeless cats. Richard Stockton died a pauper, maybe not homeless, but close enough. Given that it’s a natural state for a cat to roam, and the idea of owning a human family or two might seem strange and restrictive to one who hasn’t previously tasted cat food, I wondered what would happen if a sad, newly-homeless Stockton had encountered a happily ‘homeless’ cat in the then-nonexistent Golden Gate Park. Probably some hissing, a rift in space time, and either a nourishing kitty stew or a very scratched-up politician. I couldn’t think of a storyline that wouldn’t be trite and generally the worst fable of all time, so I fell back on the arrow poem form I invented previously. It’s easier than it looks.

If you like, you can think of the up arrow as being from the perspective of a cat and the down arrow from that of Richard Stockton. Perhaps Jonathan subconsciously chose this card for the same reason he writes so many sad songs.

And on the subject of Jonathan writing sad songs (some of which are funny because they’re about monkeys and cephalopods and vampires) he’s also the down arrow in the second poem. Opening band Paul and Storm are the up arrow, because they’ve only written one sad song that I know of. That’s not to say that Jonathan is a downer; plenty of his songs are funny without being sad, and I love funny sad songs (and non-funny sad songs) anyway.

In case you were wondering, following the tour was awesome as always. I met a lot of nice people, caught up with several I already knew, discovered a new sciency songwriter when she gave her CDs to Jonathan, and also visited Bath. I’m uploading videos of the Union Chapel show now, and will put up the rest over the next few weeks, and in the mean time you could watch the Susie Asado videos I’ve put up. Next stops: Wax Mannequin at my favourite venue on land, and Marian Call at CERN (which will probably become my new favourite venue on land once I have reason to call it a venue. But then again, it already has Hardronic.) Would you believe I’d never been to a concert of my own volition until December 2008?

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Nine of Spades: Perspective


Do you first see the arrows pointing up, or the ones pointing down?

Which way do you see things first? (Click the poems for pdf versions you can enlarge and copy the text from.)

Her eyes betray a happy girl whose glum demeanor simulates much worse conditions striking her, he thinks. Whatever hurt lurks It can't be so large her smiles can't hide her feeling it. She must live, privately, in paradise. In paradise, privately she must live her feeling. It can't hide. Her smile's so large it can't be. Hurt lurks, whatever he thinks. Much worse condition's striking: her glum demeanor simulates a happy girl whose eyes betray her.

When we don't know that it will run out there is no questioning we should enjoy the spoils of Earth if exploited with value for money. Destroying wonders while caring for someone is an ideal fix, never creates a disaster. Disaster creates a fix, never is an ideal. For someone caring wonders, while destroying for money, with value exploited of Earth, if we should enjoy the spoils. There is no questioning that it will run out. We don't know when.

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