Friday, April 22, 2011

Combatwords, April 22, 2011: Declared and Undeclared Malice

Combatwords, April 22, 2011: Declared and Undeclared Malice

I'm considered a malicious guy and I'm fine with that. My malice is well considered rejectionism. Why not? There are outrages everywhere. Does this mean I have a thin skin, or does it mean that most people have no moral compass? I say it's both. We live in a vile civilization that glamorizes power and yet, isolates us as individuals; thus encouraging people to objectify others. Isn't that fucked up? To seek power over those who appear to be little more than cartoons? Why shouldn't I hate that? And if I choose to be a hater, what's wrong with that? Those who label me thusly, what are you suggesting? That one shouldn't be outraged? That one should just stfu and tend one's garden? I oppose that on principle. Principle: the source and solution of and to my malice. Fucks are deaf and blind to good deeds and appeals for goodness—but by definition, fucks are very sensitive to the malice of others. So I'm proud of my malice. At least I declare it and it's not like I'm a Joan Rivers or Perez Hilton, using my malice against other, basically vapid enterprises. And the worst of course are the malicious who can actually argue with a straight face that they are not acting on hatred, but are rather acting on an impulse of love and compassion. These people should be murdered.

Free-for-all rules apply for this combat, which means if you don't like the main topic, go and riff off another combatant's composition.

Combat Expiration: 12am PST, 4/25/2011

Critique Expiration: 12am PST, 4/27/2011, with a rolling grace period of 24 hours to allow for critique rebuttals.

Bonuses/Penalties: +2 if posted by 6pm PST, 4/22/2011, +1 if posted by 2am PST 4/23/2011, -1 if posted by 6am PST 4/25/2011, -2 if posted by 12pm PST 4/25/2011.

The Rules:

Subscribe in a reader


  1. Hood

    The fact that I felt even a mere ounce of doubt
    worming its way through my guts, the fact
    that I wanted to protest but out of fear could not
    meant that I was more worthless than the rest
    who all hung, perfectly content
    within their dense silence just like insects suspended
    motionless in coagulated amber.
    At least no one could call them inconsistent.
    It mattered not that their stoic bravery,
    however unwavering, was buttressed
    not by some heroic act of strength but
    by the beams of stubbornness and ignorance.
    I must not be forgiven for my silence.
    I looked on with the rest as that weight twisted
    and felt my brittle spine reduced to splinters.

  2. Top of Victory

    One of my first poems started:
    "They found a boy by my house today/
    With a note in his hand/with blood."
    I don't remember the rest.

    The long-haired boy in T-shirt and jeans
    Had been killed by a shotgun blast to the chest
    And his body was dumped
    At the top of Victory Boulevard
    Up the hill and down the other side
    From where I lived
    I wrote the poem so that maybe
    I wouldn't have nightmares

    Rumor spread quickly at my junior high
    The killer was the older brother
    Of two of our classmates

    The rumors were true
    I read it in the newspaper
    The next day
    He was on the losing end
    Of a love triangle
    He was arrested out of state
    And waived extradition

    Ricky, a little guy, found the body
    I didn't find the body
    Because I didn't take that shortcut
    To Dan's house anymore
    Last time I'd gone I almost
    Stepped on a rattlesnake

    Thank you snake.

    I saw Joann in the hall at school
    I looked at her, thinking
    What everyone else thought that day
    When they saw her
    "Her brother killed a man
    And dumped his body
    At the top of Victory
    Joann looked at me
    She knew what I was thinking
    I was glad I didn't find the body

    Thank you, snake

    Ricky, in his twenties, would go to bars
    And flirt with girls who were with big strong men
    When they told him to get lost or get beat up
    He'd show them pictures of victims,
    Pictures he'd stolen from the coroner's office
    And say the murders were his work
    And invite them to step aside
    And let him chat with the lovely lady or die
    He was arrested for making terrorist threats

    I didn't find the body because
    Of that rattlesnake that had terrified me
    When I almost stepped on it
    As I climbed up the concrete drain after school

    Thank you, snake,
    Thank you again

    (n.b.: five minutes in the box. but i'd written it in short story form before, and may have written it in poetry form in the past, too)

  3. Silk Knight Swoons [Combatwords Poem, April 23, 2011]

    Knight of granite squares, night of business casual wear;
    Fights by chessboard bets—I swear, Ruy Lopez has the night sweats
    Underneath tobacco palms and gritty nails and Lasker psalms.

    Even though I wore a suit, I paused and watched the two galoots
    Murder pawns and trade a pair of dollar bills for several prawns
    Fried and battered—basket case: they fed while chessmen scattered.

    Low and you'll become the queen.
    Slow and knives become serene.
    Laugh alone to laugh like hell;
    Crazies knew I shared their smell.

    "Glasses ain't afraid of anything."
    "Watch that tie; he wants to fight."
    Silk cocoon and pace of concrete moon—
    A silver goon, a briefcase croon;
    A stroke, a grand mal swoon:
    A check and mated loon.

  4. This comment has been removed by the author.

  5. Malice

    How her boss stared over her shoulder
    when she worked. How he sauntered
    cat-like into her office when she was at lunch
    to check the caller ID on her phone.
    How he called her at the exact time
    she should have returned from lunch
    to be sure she was there. How he asked
    where she had gone to eat. How he
    demanded to know where she had been
    every time she went to the bathroom.
    How he watched her from the window
    of his office when she walked to her car
    after a long day.

    How every night she dreamed
    she was an ant in a tiny, slim ant farm,
    glass pressing on her segmented black body
    as she squeezed herself over and under
    grains of sharp gray sand, two huge eyes
    glaring at her writhing progress, her
    inelegant trails and tunnels, waiting
    for the right moment to lift the box,
    shake it like an Etch-a-Sketch,
    silently admonish her to do it again
    but better this time.

  6. Give Pause:

    On our pale blue dot alone
    There exist more than six billion centers of the universe
    And every single one is off bucking fate
    Re-determining their destination
    Confusing free will with knee-jerk reactions
    That zap telegraphed with all the consciousness, love and compassion
    As an electron tumbling down a wire from one point to another
    Perfectly happy to keep their heads straight and eyes glazed
    As they barrel in and out of control to their next desire
    Unable to be troubled, to look out for others
    Causing traffic jams, world wars, and great depressions
    Making rubber necks of us all
    To be inconvenienced by other peoples mistakes
    Jarred annoyingly from a sleep where we are free to dream
    That this is ok, that the phrase 'never loved and left to die'
    Is an acceptable combination of words
    Because it exists in nature


  7. Toady:
    Ounce of doubt worming its way through my guts is a clever fusion of cliche, but it does nothing for me. Passive sentences I realize are there to mimic the muddy sense one has when feeling malice. Can't say it did anything for me. 0.

    "I wrote the poem so that maybe
    I wouldn't have nightmares...

    Thank you snake. "
    Liked it +1

    Linebreaks seem arbitrary, ending went on too long + seemed grafted upon the 1st part. -1

    +1 -1 = 0.

    1st stanza was really interesting. I liked how off-balance it read. +1
    2nd stanza started off promising, but really deflated the energy of the 1st. I almost feel it was a separate comp, grafted upon the 1st. -1

    +1 -1 = 0

    The Humanist:

    The movement of thought was cool with this, but the language seemed a little rote for my tastes. I also feel there could have been better organization of the thoughts. 0

  8. respectfully dissent on valerie's, i vote yes on both stanzas. nice symmetry: at work, at home. in the work and farm, in the dream ant farm. i give her two thumbs up, i thought that was a strong piece o' work.