Wordsmoker

“She set the woods on fire

She set the woods on fire
with a few stray words
she’d thought were out
when she dumped them on the as pile
but a few were still glowing
and the tip of a raspberry cane,
bent by snow, caught their heat,
passed it to the broken birch at the edge,
through maple and beech,
to the heart of the woods,
even into the oak,
whose hearts would burn a hundred years.”

By Louise Carson
Published in FreeFall Fall-Ed. 2009

One of my favourites I recall quite often, it doesn’t matter what season it is. Her range is savouring, like getting the sweetest last word into an argument that marks a defining moment in someone’s character. Yes, I said “Ch-ar-a-cter…” you know, that thing that follows you for the rest of your life as a collection of defining experiences. When its done right, it can trickle in like interest of self respect. Or I guess, because all this aesthetic stuff, to be philosophically correct, is subjective–to me, you could have (in your highest glory) given everyone a burning sensation when they urinate. Having memory is, aesthetically, a large responsibility.

Using that responsibility I shall continue my RANT review. There were two points I wanted to force down everybody’s throats.

Firstly, is that character is the guardian of the creative process. It is important, and probably complex enough to warrant big scary academic words. Too bad I am lazy. On here though there have been heaps of big dicks, politics, and wits over the years. We all love those things, but where are they now? I sometimes worry, more then I should, that the creative process in others simply goes without any decent development when people can be so … fucking retarded deep down. Speaking of Fucktards (my ex), I hope Fucktard reads this and feels stupid after realizing how the creative pursuit of fame, money, and attention out of his modelling and acting career reflects nothing but shit when theres nothing going on underneath it all. I’m hopeful that many of you “gone’s” or gone-to-be’s” will come back and write, anything, even once a year to tell us your alive. (Fucktard should abandon all hope and set himself on fire). Wordsmoker is an excellent place to, err, smoke your words.

Secondly, Viruswithshoes. Yes, him. The editor of wordsmoker has been murmuring bits and pieces of the same thing. What is so special about that? Its fucking amazing actually. Being so amazing, its amazing he chooses to arrange his life in a way that allows us to do what we do on here. He seems to be fused with the cosmos and the server in some strange place where he appears at random on here saying things about welfare, masturbating, and writing. And it is nice to have the cosmos masturbating high above us. This poem is for you, for keeping this place alive. Xoxoxo.