Saturday, June 4, 2011
Whack Report by Kim Addonizio
By Kim Addonizio
A woman at the gym today said to her friend, Most people are whack.
Whack meaning crazy, displeasing, undesirable, stupid, of poor quality,
appalling, masturbatory, laid off, weird, or dead.
Most poets, as it turns out, are generally pretty whack
as in mentally ill. Anne Sexton, for example. Robert Lowell, also quite whack.
I myself am whack about sixty-seven percent of the time,
not counting nights and weekends, when it's more like eighty-two percent.
But let us focus on the beautiful wine glass, eighteen percent full
of sane, delightful, and intelligent fruit and acid. A whiff of rose petals.
Black cherry, pomegranate, cassis, devil's food cake. And limestone. Drink me
and taste my ooids, my hot buttered toast. For we must be ceaselessly whack
as in deranged said another whack poet who became a whack gun runner.
Guns are whack. Much of the world population experiences the whack factor
ninety-nine percent of the time, which can cause excessive thirst, diarrhea, death
and other side-effects. After a while, if you keep saying a word, it kind of loses
its meaning. Whack. Whack. Here come the weed whackers, beheading the grass.
Thanks, Kelly, for sending me this poem link. I have to admit that I, myself, march to the beat of a different drummer. There is no such thing as normal, IMO, and I'm happy to be whacked to the Nth degree.
Let your Freak Flag Fly proudly!!!
Today I felt pass over me
A breath of wind from the wings of madness.
"You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it." ~Robin Williams
"Might we not say to the confused voices which sometimes arise from the depths of our being: 'Ladies, be so kind as to speak only four at a time?'" ~Madame Swetchine
A little madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King.
"When we remember we are all mad, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained". ~Mark Twain