A lot of what they do is distract from what they do.

For the first time in months I took a stab at doing something I call “Scrapping”.

I only do this when I happen to be in a particularly creative cycle because of how much effort it takes.
When you scrap, it’s pretty much a day long process.

So.
When my brain begins to function almost 100% in -let me humor myself here- phrases of poetry.
Something needs to be done about it.
So I can pretend I’m not living in some crappy play.

What the process usually involves is:

• Around eight hours of free time.
• A paper journal.
• A red pen.
• A nice space outside.

The red pen is just a weird preference thing I have.
I refuse to write in any journal if it’s not in red pen.
I also refuse to write in any journal that’s not red and black.
Lucky for me, I just got a new one yesterday that happened to be the right colors.
thnx@gf

Anyway.

I end up writing out nearly everything that comes into my brain.
That’s a lot of awp fragments, folks.

And at the end of the day.
I sit in front of my computer.
And try to make sense of it.

For those who are even remotely interested in this writing process, I’ll try to show you how I produce a final product from all of this.

Okaay~
So.
For this particular awp, I’ve got a few phrases (Out of roughly 300) selected that I’ll list.

1. Top of the world
2. To the voices crying, “No demolition”
3. Nostrils filled with a sharp tang like citrus
4. Demands for privacy assist
5. Parliament cries
6. You laughed it off like it was all okay

These are the things that I’ll be pulling from.
I wont use all of them.
Some I’ll use verbatim, some I’ll rearrange.
Art is always flexible.

And as all scrap poems go. I’ll write it in about thirty seconds, and I wont edit it.
If I arranged all of what I did today into little block chunks, it would take me roughly (Editlol:thirty five) minutes to filter it into awp format.

It’s kind of like taking paint.
And splattering it against a canvas.
Then looking what appeared.

So.
Because of the loose rules.
It might be a little weird sounding.
:] But that’s okay.

_______________________________________

And you call this a fiasco?

Everyone knows
Shoved under this gutter, my cries echo through
Each sewer rat pawing for a different price
Brittle nails crawl up my back looking for answers
As if my skin would break into braille

As if snakes would burrow under my skin just to coil around her tiny little fingers
Just so she could get her sick little answers

Dig harder baby, my venom tastes just fine.

To the voices crying, “No demolition”.
To the parliamentry wails for privacy
She must look like Medusa.

You aren’t going anywhere, and your walls aren’t nearly thick enough.
Your demands for privacy assist can lock themselves away with the rest of your hopes.
Start chewing, metal takes a little while to dissolve.

And when your nostrils fill with the stench of sewer citrus, close your eyes.
Or the scent will overcome you.

Once upon a time
There was something deliciously sinister about these underground waterways
Now there’s nothing but the warped shard of a delicate soul

Searching for redemption and answers.