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The Master of Allusion

An interesting duality I’ve stumbled across over the past couple days while preparing materials for publication submissions. Going back through old articles and poems I was primarily struck by how shitty some of the earlier work now seems. No reason to fret though, presumably I’ll spend the remainder of my years honing my craft. At least until the senility overtakes me… The flip-side of the coin though is the rediscovery of forgotten excellence. Lines or jokes strewn across a less than verdant landscape that nevertheless sustains life. I found it to be an even bargain, quasi-embarrassment due to typos, off-meter poetry etc. in exchange for a proportionally invaluable ego-boost. It’s the revenue neutral transaction always promised but never delivered. 🙂

Where my babblers at? Who else also extracts themselves from sub-optimal scenarios by weaving word webs? We may be using our powers for evil. That said, we’re far from the darkest end of the spectrum. Others have given into the hyper-talkative devils on their shoulder to far greater magnitudes.

The Mister Of Allusion, July 1, 2018

Coincidence is it that the most loquacious

Happen to also be acutely rapacious

As if their verbal torrents form swirling magick

We’re thriving greenery but they’re phytophagic

Provisioning themselves with the gifts we ought share

Covetous and grasping from choice bucolic lair

Vaporous solutions fast flee my clutching palm

Must maintain dread temper, lose if I lose calm.

I have never been an individual concerned with amassing great wealth or power. That said, I’m having difficulty discerning another manner with which to catalyze any sort of effective change. Nobody listens to nobodies. Sadly, it no longer seems possible to alter the system from within or externally. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still going to try because the alternative is no real alternative at all. That said, I’m under no illusion as to the likely outcome, or rather lack-thereof.

Be the change, become the result.

-Alex Blaikie

Categories: poetry writing

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A fractured mind held together by cellophane and some used tack.

4 replies

  1. I’ve had similar conversations as you described in your opening paragraph. The evolution of a writer is the constant re-examination and editing of past words. At least it feels that way for me. Nice piece!

    Liked by 1 person

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