Poison Poiesis

rembrandt_-_artemis_-_detail_nautilus_cup

(c) From Artemisia Receiving Mausolus’ Ashes by Rembrandt van Rijn

I don’t mind the clutter
ask me to come in
wear your dark side
I want you to
give me the fever, the ashes, and chaos
be my darling
I’ll kill us in the end.
snow and cocaine
sell me your lines
you are full of them words.
a stranger and friend
with speeches on end
have mercy on the delicious poison you choose
feast on it and let its flavors loose
bleed me your hopes and dreams
let’s dance and step on each other’s feet.
take turns with me in breaking mirrors
and exchange cracks and glue them together
have no remorse for the misfits
leave scotch and cigarettes shape the trail
to racy poems and disguise phrases
flooding rooms with creation and recreational
drugs we seek and the fantastical
between sheets and drinks and nightly seizures
of distorted visions and gambling.
dices were thrown
we’ve reached the seventh day
of a sinful cruise
where red and green lights meet
I see you standing there to the beat
filthy my mind gives in to your greed.

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The Multiple Benefits of Handwriting

cursive-writing

 

As computers are now mastering almost every aspect of our lives, we find it more and more difficult to resort to pen and paper to express an idea, write a message, jot down thoughts, and other such activities. Have you ever thought why teachers bombarded us with hand writing tasks and homework if now we don’t bother with making those perfectly shaped letters since we barely use them anymore?

When was the last time you wrote a letter to a friend? By hand, that is. Yes, the process requires more time and effort but think about what this means for your friend – regardless of the content, what you are also saying is that you value them and that investing a bit more of your time is worth it.

The thing is handwriting involves graceful movement, dancing, drawing rounded forms – and all these add emotion to the text as well as to the audience. Emoticons will never be able to restore emotion in our soulless typing. And what about freedom of expression: do we express ourselves more freely with a pen than with a keyboard?

Well, while word-processing is a normative, standardized tool, handwriting does seem to allow you a greater freedom: you are creating a form that software cannot. You don’t have to follow a set pattern.

According to neuroscientists and psychologists, the benefits of handwriting for your brain run deep so I’ve listed here a few:

It enhances learning

Handwriting strengthens the learning process and produces a healthier mind. On the other hand, typing produces mindless processing. One of the most effective ways of studying is rewriting your notes by hand.

It’s a key step in cognitive development

It boosts cognitive skills for young children as they benefit more from learning how to write shapes and letters by hand than via technology.

It improves memory

Psychologists say that writing by hand has both short-term and long-term effects on the memory. If you’re a student, handwriting your notes could help you understand better and retain concepts, ideas, theories, and facts. This is not the case when you use your laptop for the same activity.

It has a soothing effect

Handwriting could be a form of graphotherapy. If you write peaceful content, those sentences will have a positive impact on your brain.

It engages your motor skills

Handwriting entails movement – from the holding of your pen to touching the paper and to how you are tracing the letters, one round form after the other. This is why writing by hand is considered a great sensory motor exercise.

It uses more of your brain

The region of the brain that is activated during reading is also activated when you are writing by hand, but not while typing or texting. The movements involved in handwriting leave a motor memory in the sensorimotor part of the brain, helping us recognize letters. This implies a strong correlation between reading and writing by hand.

It could help those with special needs

Cursive writing aids in preventing the reversal and inversion of letters so it could be an effective way to help treat dyslexia and dysgraphia.

It sharpens aging minds

Using pen and paper keeps our brains active in old age. Simply put, handwriting is good for everyone – kids, adults, and the elderly.

It reduces distractions

Cursive writing can train self-control ability and helps those with behavioral or sensory processing disorders.

It inspires creativity

Finally – and probably most importantly if you’re a writer – handwriting cultivates creativity in ways typing can’t. Because putting words on paper is a slower process, it helps you express more ideas and inspires more creative thought.

Many writers have expressed their preference for hand writing their drafts only to type them later for editing. (I confess I use pen and paper in drafting my poems as well as for my brief free writing exercises which creates an intimacy with the words I’m crafting.)

Handwriting is an art form. And it’s dying. Even though research suggests there is a strong connection between handwriting and broader educational development, public schools in the United States are removing cursive writing from the classrooms. As kids and students are becoming more accustomed to texting, typing, and tweeting, cursive writing will appear to them as peculiar as ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics.

So is it that how we write matters just as much as what we write? Whether we write shopping lists, reminders, birthday cards, essays, notes, articles, poems, or love letters, whenever we do so, we are training our brains to work just a bit differently. Yes, typing is more practical because it’s faster, but it lacks the beautiful nuances and layers of personality and vulnerability that handwriting adds to the words we artfully conceive.

PS: Sadly, I have not handwritten this article prior to typing it.

10 ways i strangled you in my sleep last night

 

1. i covered your flag eyes so they don’t wave indifference at me
2. i duct taped your mouth so i don’t hear you NOT say you care
3. i locked the room the human in me set off the fire alarm you are alarmed
4. i wrapped your neck in a string of pearls so i can lasso you mortified
5. i kissed every pearl for every time you passed me by
6. i replaced every pearl with a cluster of spikes for when you made love to her
7. the spikes prickled your collar bone for every nice thing you said to me
8. i dug my fingernails and seize flesh for every smile i can’t recover
9. i rip my heart out its weight ponders on your neck it clutches it you’re surrounded there’s no escape but release from me
10. you’re chocking you feel the weight you understand you’re aware now
i can let go
breathe in breathe out
i’m the one who’s suffocating

messianic metamorphosis

Elis Cooke_Metamorphosis V

(c) Elis Cooke Metamorphosis V

stranger seconds of solitude, don’t look at me, i cross, i’m still, i kneel
forge your secrets and forget your testimonies, a sucker for sins i am
you said i’ll carry you, i say come into me
a redemptive chorus slides anemically, you procrastinate
seize me virgin again
measure the strokes you blessed the surface with
lost in control, uncontrollable lust,
the end ticks inside of her, she wants jesus
his flesh is her survival, her prayer is for pain and release
in the late hour she commits, yearning for the kingdom coming
in the air the scent is near, veins collide, massacres confront
she moans tell me your story
i am and will be he grabs satan
dual and carnal they reside
devour your demons don’t forsake them
she masks her desires, he interrupts her being
brutal chaos he recites and croons all over the sight of her while she sheds herself entirely
i vow clearance and damnation
and her mouth seeks for trophy skin open in search of the mother’s breast she aims for jesus and his sacrifice.
in despair and delight he moans the sacred away, hungry for destruction
shiva dressed as kali, he sees them
and marks her the scar of rapture, burns her deadly
perverting jesus she misses eternal life
sweat of the son faith of the mortal you beg i bleed
rhythm of the gospel i come i find i lose the way
head tilt back you spread i clutch your hands, drown in gasping
division of self unity of flesh, the breathing is now sacred.
with the electric power of a thousand gods
i felt your guitar inside of me
igniting twitching immortality, emanating virtuosity
delivering an islanded ebb and flow with orchestral drive
the sound is a trumpet and a martyr and a whore and a visionary and a saint and a preacher and a son and a virgin and a mary a god of all empty filled with grace and make-believe
she is redeemed in his seed
entrenched in pain each other’s corrupt, corruptible game
have they all been the same?
saints are splashing pleasure pleasure begets pain
she is scattered and released, he lays mute and sinful he understands what god has meant for him
consumption and chaos
to trigger pleasure, to err in sacrificial insanity, to die in spiritual bliss
she kneels beside him, he joins her hands
crucifixion throws them in neglect, arrows pointing heaven
streams of red rivers glow in ecstasy
she is christ now.

First published by Walking Is Still Honest Press (W.I.S.H. Publishing) on January 7, 2015

strange seas

Figure at the Window

(c) Salvador Dalí Figure at a Window

strange is the waiting
that turns seconds into eons
stranger the liquid silence
before the eruptive violence
ambrosial chaos between the dreams
that unite oceans and depart seas
fleeting and slithering,
an ever-growing zigzag
of recollections and treasures.
strange is the miracle
of washing away
rivers run dry
for waters to progress
freely without a cry.
stranger from afar
you leave all of my doors ajar
let’s paint sand castles
on surrealist benches and porches
decipher and explore
the message from the bottle
Parisian lettres of autumn.
through a snowing still
I gaze at spring and feel
a stranger near my windowsill
as seasons turn the wheel
blue waves bow
to the undulating powers that be
carrying you ever closer to me.

Quilt

Queen Quilt Handmade Wheel of Mystery

(c) Queen Quilt Handmade Wheel of Mystery

In the dungeon of my mind
I err on a smoke voyage to you
The ashes at my tiny feet
Rise and make up letters, commas, and semicolons
All is in tune and I wish I knew what to do.
Poetry is carved inside of a poem inside a painting of my nakedness
And I moan my way into your fantasy wreaking havoc
Pour me some scotch
I’ll tell you a secret
You don’t want to know,
I’ll bake poetries and spice them with you.
The green and purple in mono
Take me away to far off places,
We bathe in meanings and double entendres.
I’m breathing in the apocalyptic air with you
But we are knitting a fire escape,
A woven utopia of loopholes, poetry, and music,
A Parisian excess with bohemianized versions of ourselves…
Give me the words and I’ll make love to them
I shed my words and sounds to a crimson rêve
And while on a blues spree
I summon you and the histoire begins
Poetic rambling has us locked up insylum
As letters continue to slip our bodies.
Where’s the climax of my poem?
Take me there.