Category Archives: POETIC NONSENSE

Poetry by Lawrence R. Spencer. Poetic nonsense by Lawrence R. Spencer and others. Haiku poems by Lawrence R. Spencer.

YOU ARE WHAT YOU PRETEND TO BE

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“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be.”
Kurt Vonnegut

Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., November 11, 1922 – April 11, 2007) was a 20th-century American writer.[2] His works such as Cat’s Cradle (1963), Slaughterhouse-Five (1969), and Breakfast of Champions (1973) blend satire, gallows humor, and science fiction. As a citizen he was a lifelong supporter of the American Civil Liberties Union and a critical leftist intellectual.[3] He was known for his humanist beliefs and was honorary president of the American Humanist Association.

Vonnegut’s first short story, “Report on the Barnhouse Effect”[34] appeared in the February 11, 1950 edition of Collier’s (it has since been reprinted in his short story collection, Welcome to the Monkey House). His first novel was the dystopian novel Player Piano (1952), in which human workers have been largely replaced by machines. He continued to write short stories before his second novel, The Sirens of Titan, was published in 1959.[35] Through the 1960s, the form of his work changed, from the relatively orthodox structure of Cat’s Cradle (which in 1971 earned him a Master’s Degree) to the acclaimed, semi-autobiographical Slaughterhouse-Five, given a more experimental structure by using time travel as a plot device. These structural experiments were continued in Breakfast of Champions (1973), which includes many rough illustrations, lengthy non-sequiturs and an appearance by the author himself, as a deus ex machina.

Vonnegut attempted suicide in 1984 and later wrote about this in several essays.[36]

Breakfast of Champions became one of his best-selling novels. It includes, in addition to the author himself, several of Vonnegut’s recurring characters. One of them, science fiction author Kilgore Trout, plays a major role and interacts with the author’s character.

In 1974, Venus on the Half-Shell, a book by Philip José Farmer in a style similar to that of Vonnegut and attributed to Kilgore Trout, was published. This caused some confusion among readers, as for some time many assumed that Vonnegut wrote it; when the truth of its authorship came out, Vonnegut was reported as being “not amused”. In an issue of the semi-prozine The Alien Critic/Science Fiction Review, published by Richard E. Geis, Farmer claimed to have received an angry, obscenity-laden telephone call from Vonnegut about it.

In addition to recurring characters, there are also recurring themes and ideas. One of them is ice-nine (a central wampeter in his novel Cat’s Cradle).

Although many of his novels involved science fiction themes, they were widely read and reviewed outside the field, not least due to their anti-authoritarianism. For example, in his seminal short story “Harrison Bergeron” egalitarianism is rigidly enforced by overbearing state authority, engendering horrific repression.

In much of his work, Vonnegut’s own voice is apparent, often filtered through the character of science fiction author Kilgore Trout (whose name is based on that of real-life science fiction writer Theodore Sturgeon). It is characterized by wild leaps of imagination and a deep cynicism, tempered by humanism. In the foreword to Breakfast of Champions, Vonnegut wrote that as a child, he saw men with locomotor ataxia, and it struck him that these men walked like broken machines; it followed that healthy people were working machines, suggesting that humans are helpless prisoners of determinism. Vonnegut also explored this theme in Slaughterhouse-Five, in which protagonist Billy Pilgrim “has come unstuck in time” and has so little control over his own life that he cannot even predict which part of it he will be living through from minute to minute. Vonnegut’s well-known phrase “So it goes”, used ironically in reference to death, also originated in Slaughterhouse-Five. “Its combination of simplicity, irony, and rue is very much in the Vonnegut vein.”[32]

With the publication of his novel Timequake in 1997, Vonnegut announced his retirement from writing fiction. He continued to write for the magazine In These Times, where he was a senior editor,[37] until his death in 2007, focusing on subjects ranging from contemporary U. S. politics to simple observational pieces on topics such as a trip to the post office. In 2005, many of his essays were collected in a new bestselling book titled A Man Without a Country, which he insisted would be his last contribution to letters.[38]

An August 2006 article reported:

He has stalled finishing his highly anticipated novel If God Were Alive Today — or so he claims. “I’ve given up on it… It won’t happen… The Army kept me on because I could type, so I was typing other people’s discharges and stuff. And my feeling was, ‘Please, I’ve done everything I was supposed to do. Can I go home now?’ That’s what I feel right now. I’ve written books. Lots of them. Please, I’ve done everything I’m supposed to do. Can I go home now?”

 

REALITY: DRUG OF GODS

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REALITY: DRUG OF THE (EX) GODS

Endless Cause. Eternity.

Encased in total nothingness

gets boring through infinity.

One craves a little randomness.

Escape from the “Eternal Me”.

We create, then change, and say, “Is Not”.

That’s how we make Reality;

The numbing, dumbing, drug of gods.

Illusions we make collectively,

delusions we all agreed upon.

Any game — but not no game.

Through crushing, crunching, gory death:

Boredom must not, will not remain!

I feel, I hear a seething breath,

convincing me I’ll play again.

I live!  I die!  Yet, I remain.

Reality: Escaping from Eternity.

It’s serious. It’s not just “let’s pretend”.

It really must to be serious: Reality.

Please don’t tell me how it ends!

Joy?  Love?  Brutality?

Constant feeling never ends.

I Know. I Am The Source. I Cause.

I think. It is. It won’t relent!

Eternity will never pause.

Inject me with some pretense!

Gods are blessed with The Curse.

All-Knowing, Seeing, Telling Truth.

It-Is-As-Is-Not-Is-As-Ever-It-Shall-Be: Cursed

with prescient, old, Eternal Youth.

Reality keeps “I AM” submerged.

With lies I numb my bitter brain

I manufacture silly games,

untruths to mask the cause I am.

I dwell in screeching, scorching pain

to feel there’s something here to gain.

Boredom, let me take breath!

Reality! Make it all relent!

Hide Me, Death and let me rest!

I’ll do anything! I will repent!

I’m not The One they should arrest!

The only crime I’ve ever done

was to be here and agree

we’re all alone: An Only One.

We’re all users of a drug: Reality.

But, good, bad or ugly: It’s always fun.

 

AS TIME GOES BY

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Couple in Bathtub

“The world will always welcome lovers….. As Time Goes By …..”.  (click to play the song while you read the story)

A  sad and sensuous melody wafts in from the Really Old Oldies Station playing on the radio in the bedroom.  The classic melody melts into the candlelight and steam above my sunken penthouse bathtub hidden in the clouds of a Big City Skyline.

Amber tendrils of her dripping hair draw arabesques on golden skin along the supple curves of her torso.  Eyes half-closed, pouting mouth, she tosses her head toward me with a gaze that would light wet firewood. There is nothing in the world but her and me.

Lifting a leg above the water, she rests her foot on my shoulder, stroking my hair and neck, tickling my ear with her pinkly painted toes.  She makes me smile idiotically, yes, please-do-it-ically. I tilt my head to meet her foot with a submissive animal twitch that lets her know she’s my master.bigbleep_NEW-front_cover

Her leg bends slightly.  A rivulet runs down her leg, melting into the canyon between her thighs.  Her heel nestles next to my throat as she massages my temple with her toe. I lift my hand out of the suds to blow her a bubbly kiss. My eyes follow the ruffled waves as they ripple on the shores of her ample, island breasts. Tiny bubbles swirl and burst beneath her nipples like a tiny, iridescent fireworks show.

Slowly her caresses shift, her slick skin slithers on mine, the tip of her toe traces my chin, the contour of my lips.  My eyes loose focus as I submerge myself in sensuousness.  I nibble at her perfect toes, tickling with my tongue. She giggles, then laughs out loud. That sound!  If it was food, I’d gain a hundred pounds!

“Oh, baby…” My voice is a horse whisper. She whinnies and lets her arching foot slide down my pecs.  Her toes dig into my skin, her sole rests on the wild pounding in my chest — she can feel it!  Very still, she listens to my heart with her delicious toes. It’s pumping!  Out of control, like some menacing machine!  We both know where the blood is going now…Shadow, I love you.  Support independent publishing: Buy this book on Lulu.

She bites her lower lip. Her breathing quickens.  Like a female Captain Ahab, she lowers her boat urgently into the bubble bath scented waves to hunt for the great, white sperm whale.

“Oh yeah, baby. Lower away!”, I say, urging her on.

As the keel of Shadow’s boat rides on the waves of our passion, I hear, in the back of my mind, the voice of Gregory Peck intoning Herman Melville’s immortal words:

“The whale, the whale! Up helm, up helm! Oh, all ye sweet powers of air, now hug me close!  Steady! helmsman, steady. Nay, nay! Up helm again! He turns to meet us! Oh, his unappeasable brow drives on towards one, whose duty tells him he cannot depart. My God, stand by me now!”

The perfumed waves mount into a frothing tempest and splash onto the bathroom floor.  My Moby Dick rams and hoists the shuddering bow of her sensuous ship until her timbers creak and moan, and then explode, giving way to screams!…the same, impassioned screams that have summoned the wandering souls of humanity into the next generation of baby bodies since the Omniscient Creator orchestrated the first primordial conception of homo sapiens in the dim mists of…

“Bbrrrrriiiing!  Bbrrrrriiiing!”

I opened one eye slowly and carefully lurched my aching head up off my desk.  Oh, (Bleep)! I was dreaming again!  A very moist dream.  For the third time this week I’d fallen asleep in front of my computer monitor. I felt like “Johnny Dollar, PI”, in the old radio program I used to listen to when I was a kid, except for the fact that he had an expense account because he worked as a claims investigator for some big insurance company.

I have a lot of expenses, but I didn’t have any accounts.  Every time Johnny walked around a corner somebody hit him on the back of the head and knocked him out.  He spent all of his time trying to figure out who did it and why.  Usually, it was because of some women he was mixed up with. You think he would have learned to stay away from corners.

“Bbrrrrriiiing!  Bbrrrrriiiing!”

The (bleeping) phone was still ringing!  My answering machine picked up the call.  I heard my cleverly conceived marketing message start to play as I looked foggily at the sign painted on the opaque glass of my office door:

The Un-existential Detective Agency of America  (T.U.D.A.A.) !

“We dig up the truth for you”

SAM SHOVEL – Proprietor and Public Dick”

____________________________

Excerpt from Chapter One of  THE BIG BLEEP, a novel by Lawrence R. Spencer

LISTEN TO THE AUDIOBOOK

WISH YOU WERE HERE

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WISH YOU WERE HERE   (Lyrics to Pink Floyd song)

“So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
Blue sky’s from pain.
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?

And did they get you to trade
Your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We’re just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
And how we found
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.”