Up Your Buttercups (2002)
Yes, culture lovers, it's time again to slam your critical faculties with that weird amalgamation of the verse arts: Freeper Poetry.
This is where I hold my nose and enter the discussion area over at the verbal cesspool of Free Republic. I hunt and gather remarks, paste them into a virtual cut-up machine, slice and dice them on a random setting multiple times, and then rearrange jumbled phrase accidents as poetic lines. It's a cathartic exercise that reclaims strangled language and recycles dumb thoughts. Today's collaged found poem was reconstituted from the following threads: 1) "Psst -- We Don't Really Need Liberals," 2) "Fight Back, Mr. President: Shouldn't the President Defend His Honor?", and 3) assorted comments written in response to the "Fight Back" essay. The result:
"Up Your Buttercups"
Fitzmas is fun and pro-family.
I'm a pathetic rat raised on Doom
smacking and wiping Karl regularly
according to protocol and theocracy.
My wet blanket remake fails
faster than conservative kiddies
can rap proper on rhetoric
or nit-pick their snot-noses
and pom poms rather than risk
growth tasks. Danger. Bush battles
competence. History remembers
chock-full intell and the lying disgrace
of this cloud group. Harry pressed
for a referendum on perpetual war.
Lunacy is my permanent message.
Blogs and web sites I've enjoyed this week:
Drift over to Tim Hodkinson's Fractal Beanstalk blog. Sharp art and thoughtful musings on process, philosophy, computing, history, and even life itself. Witty, informative, and sometimes biographical -- always well written. Something good sprouted and grew here.
You need to go on a quest with The Green Knight. Intelligent writing on politics and society spiced with occasional fine art and poetry. Sometimes funny, yes, but more often reflective and sensitive to the big picture. You'll be swayed but not clubbed.
I love exploring zloblog -- even if I can't speak the language. A surreal mish-mash of visual art, photography, film stills, comics, logos, and strange-o pop culture. I have no idea what's going on, so I just let it wash over my eyes and simmer in my brain.