Such is Death
Excuse me, he has a name. Don’t you come asking me where the body is.
Thank god for the little hearts that make me wonder who is actually reading this.
Let’s Do This!
OK, I will stay within the word count. Now I need to pick a topic....
Confessions of a platzrigger
yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes.
now that we are past the word count i re-edit the post. the excitment of cheating in something so important, the rush of adrenalin that i get, for brazenly flaunting this word count.
its sexy. my heart is beating fast, as i know that i am way..way...waaay past the word count. i dont check how much. that doesn’t concern me now. i feel immidiate sensations of hair rising, of goosbumps. i’m in a free fall of words and fuck the loser that set this stuff up to be just 15 words. let him get through his bowel movement of an existance with rules and regulations. it’s anarchy here. i feel like making molotov cocktails, of going to the library, taking the cute trolly and riding it, until i smack into the ‘ethnography’ section, whatever the dewey system code for that.
to hell with that stalinist crap anyway!
long live the revolution, bring on the guilliotine, and put up the barricades. we shall defend our right to not count stuff!!
i feel like buying seven super-gulps and gulping them , just so i could mess up the subway station .
to hell with structure, to hell with contrivance.
live, live, live!!!
now, for random things , just to make it longer, out of spite.
1) outside the entrance, the air is cool. i see in the distance, the fragile leaves of a gingko tree are green and trembling as the cool breeze disturbs them. i am a samurai of words. the leaves know my poetry, which is undefinable by quantity!! the leaves shudder , fearing the worst.
someday there will be a reckoning . i will be bested. but not today.
2) upon the coffee table, rest forgotten, a pack of spaghetti noodles (the italian kind), an empty box of cigaretts, and empty bottle of orange gatorade, the cap is missing, misteriously. i am tempted to write what drove all three objects to be found there so early in the morrow. maybe i should. who will stop me? who?!
3) the lady that i car-pool with, is not coming today with me. i shall bear the crushing brunt of the taxi fare by myself. you are actually more aware of your loneliness the more materialistic you are.
4) road work ahead. we detour , round the second ring road. i fear getting lost as much as i fear screwing with the word count!!!
5) arriving at the office, i am unusually the only one to arrive si early. the vpn is working, so i pop up youtube and put on the hammerklavier sonata. Daniel Birenbaum is a giant.
one of the commenters states that he imagines beethoven sitting by the piano, composing with a grin. saying to himself ‘try playing this, fuckers! ha ha ha!’.
if you haven’t understood the meaning of the word platzrigger. it comes from the noble art of platzrigging- the intentional flaunting of wordcount rules. it is a sick type of sexual perversion, and people like me should be sent away for the betterment of society. maybe to an island of platzriggers, where we sit around with notebooks and get electric shock with cattle prods if we write less or more than is precisely demanded. we shall all have striped shirts, shaven heads, some symbol delianting us from each other, but not on ethnic or sexual or religious grounds. word count nazis do not care of such things. in this camp for the literary deranged , we will be taught respect, meter, punctuation, spelling and good citizanry. it will be meaningful and we will be grateful. after we learn all that good stuff, we shall be gassed, ’cause we still need to pay for our heinous crimes. we shall form short-lived bonds of friendship, about 15 words in length.
oh. sorry. got carried off again...
it could be that platzrigging stems from a deeper problem with understanding arythmatics.
no matter, no matter...
it goes on,
until I decide when it’s enough!!!
I’d Like To Be A Platzrigger* But
The challenge to write something worth writing in only 15 words is even more temptatious.
that doesn’t mean I can’t write several 15-worders. Perhaps even 15 15-worders? Why not?
The question of whether or not this is cheating is still open to interpretation. Right?
If you’re wise enough to say “I know nothing” then you’re lying. Thank you Socrates.
If the platzrigging life is akin to pirating, I’m a rum-drinker with a conspicuous parrot.
Attention is the currency of good-humored thinkers, so thankyou for lining my garishly feathered cap.
Big baggers sometimes brag that begging begets begrudgement. Well I beg to differ! Begone beggarphobes!
I haven’t written anything longer than the word count. Iffn you count ’em all separate.
Speaking of poodles, have you ever wondered why there’s such wide disparity in dog breeds?
“A sham! It’s all a sham!” He screams, “A word is always as it seems!”
Shorter rhyme here, To sooth bleeding ear:
A limper Who’ll not whimper Gets free beer.
Nothing kills worry like curry. Do worry and curry rhyme? I worry they do not.
Perplexed ponderers philosophize piosly,
picking ’part problems,
persistently prioritizing purposes:
penultimate Pendragons, painstakingly purging pens.
One more rhyme I doth portend, before this silly nonsense meets a timely slimely end:
There was a platzrigger from spain,
Who pleaded for us to refrain
From stifling limericks.
*“The noble art of platzrigging- the intentional flaunting of wordcount rules.”~ Balshazzar Wastebasket (batmaninwuhan)
there is fear woven
within these letters
an unsettling dread
of a monster,
Cut all corners.
Not play fair.
Yes! Yes! Yes!
No no's allowed.
I wanna cheat!
Lying Little Cactus
Cacti are a trick.
Deep lakes kept out of our sight,
prickles and spikes hide.
I see you looking at me.
Yes, that's a wink.
Here we go.
My dog ate a omelet then puked it up whole. I guess he didn’t chew.