A Respite from Restraint

"This above all: to thine on self be true, And it must follow as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man." Polonius 1.3

[schmidtsburg]

[bobbyvitta-blog]

Is that too much to ask?!

[georgcranstoun]

collaboration with photographer Cydney Holm, 2015

www.cydneycosetteholm.com

www.georgecranstoun.com

[bobbyvitta-blog]

Lady Anne: Why did you kill this person, Richard?

Richard III: I do not kill people. That– that is my least favourite thing to do.

[bobbyvitta-blog]

If you are lonely when you are alone, you are in bad company.

JP Sartre

[bobbyvitta-blog]

Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you.

JP Sartre

[bobbyvitta-blog]

Goat or Morningsuck

Why did I wake up with a goat on my chest?

Again??

Grazing at my heavy hearted hurts,

It hurts like a seed of hemlock

Imbedded in my solar plexus.

I’m honestly perplexed that I still feel this way

After days and weeks of tryin to straighten my shit out.

You can’t unfold what’s knitted into the curtains of your doubt.

This veil split in half about a year ago.

I was saved and blessed, washed clean of my guilt.

Oh christ, Jesus carries that too?

Well then I oughta keep on shopping,

Cause I’m looking for that loophole,

The life hack that’ll break God’s back,

And save my slovenly ass.

My pride to stay alive as a mortal human being.

What’s missing is my treatment of impermanence, Anicca.

Poli want a cracker?

I wanna incentivize my efforts to try.

I’ll do anything to satisfy my goat.

 Wait, hold up, back track a bit, my goat got worst.

I’m really sick of this shit!

I wouldn’t mind it if it didn’t feel like mourning.

It’s no even morning anymore and I’m still stuck in this slipknot

Of bed sheets that don’t like when I sleep

And my own shrill dose of rise and shine to snap me to my feet

I’m incomplete!

I’ll keep perusing my gaps and cracks and flaws

Caulking up my trash can with sticky tissues from lonely palms

Now it’s got me counting hairs.

I’m splittin ends to make minds meet.

My doubt and guilt almost got me beat.

 Oh wait a sec,

Breathe a sec,

Take my mind off me a sec,

Not off, but out.

Not really out, but in

To my body

Where I feel that goat on me.

He’s a silent shimmer

A plated pressure

A slowly rotating glimmer

Of ice,

Not ice,

No, heat!

He/she is calling a name

A familiar flair that faintly explains

A blue butter diamond that dangles in chains

Light refracted, reflecting my

Father and mother’s names

Their eyes upon me

Nothing to blame, scold,

Or make sorry

I came from my father’s rib, you see.

Through my mother’s womb, so clean.

They only want me

To be in witness of this glory,

To fight for stillness

Against the disturbance

Of this destructive yet human weakness.

The Goat can take,

But the goat can give

Warm suck from the teat.

Hmmmm Ahhhhhh, that’s it.

[incorrectshakespeare]

I don’t know how to stay tender with this much blood in my mouth

Ophelia, Act IV, Scene V (via incorrectshakespeare)

[profeminist]

[words-pics-flicks]

Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep.

Scott Adams (cartoonist)

[words-pics-flicks]

[Art] is necessarily provocative. It goes against the grain. It’s out to irritate and disturb and make people think from a different perspective.

Peter Greenaway (Glasgow “Herald” newspaper interview)

[bobbyvitta-blog]

A couple candids from the platform. I know both of these people, so it’s only slightly fishy.

[bobbyvitta-blog]

Slam 1

Hands up!

I’m under arrest?

Can’t quite confess

There’s a green tear under this bullet-proof mess.

 My asymmetric chest is exposed.

Oh you oughta put on a show!

I eat my tears off a silver self-help cone,

 With golden ormus sprinkles

To open up my dimples.

I’ll smile through all life’s fuckin wrinkles.

 Cause I’m serving up privilege

Straight outta my momma’s kitchen.

We ate lox, and prime rib, and my mother’s crack chicken.

 The moment I lost my Ferby

Was the moment I got a 360.

 I was never left too long cryin,

But it wasn’t long before I started tryin

To read,

To think,

To ask my parents the “read a book” questions

 About God,

And Moses,

And why does Molly get a Barbie

When I gotta hammer this fuckin Tonka truck!

 Sorry!!

I can’t get the ball when I’m open.

No one passes it to me cause I’m the slow kid.

I insist to the coach I’m not right, you see.

 I need to touch that place inside of me.

That makes me light and wonder and wise to me.

I want feathers to fly on, pirouette and glide on

Top, tip, top of the world! Can you see Me?!

Can You see Me!?

Can you See me?!

 Please.

 Make me an offer I Will refuse;

You’ll fuckin lose.

 I’ll take it all on the chin,

To impress my latest sin.

 Get all my fucks in a row.

Quack, quack till the cums come home.

 I’ma boyfriend the fuck outta ya to show you I’m gold

I be better than that mother fucker lickin his throne.

 I want you to moan and glide and feel your pride.

Throb a’ throb goes the tigress.

Lick your wounds till you die.

  But who am I kiddin?

I’m a pushover.

 I pull the wool over your eyes so you wont recognize

The skeletons under my bed reach up to my hairline,

 Which keeps receding like my self-confidence.

I wanna have a home grown organic self-acceptance.

 I stole one of those last lines from a John Grant song.

I can’t even be original this poems just takes too long.

 To write and read.  I was always dyslexic.

Maybe I’ll stop rhyming, that’d be fantastic.

 Shit, I’ll never finish this poem tonight.

I gotta fill three pages to out chase my self spite.

 I’m trying too hard to please everyone.

The last thing on my mind is to have any fun.

 Why’s it always gotta be a shit show?!

Making miracles outta messes to lighten my load.

 The beginning of this poem didn’t make any sense.

Well it does to me, it don’t make a difference.

 Did you get it? I got it?

We’ll table it.

I gotta figure out this honesty poetry shit.