Category Archives: Weirdo

Post-non-apocalyptic, psychoanalyric therapy session…

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ATTENTION: The shown image and text are NOT an invitation to action! Please read responsibly, at your own risk!

It’s 2013, following the End of the World/Year, with hoards of zombie-like survivors hangovering wind-blown, empty streets, littered with the scattered remains of what was once The Great Late Year 2012…
Only the prepared ones seem to have escaped the horrible, judgement-like display of fire(work)s falling from the skies, by taking shelter under shadowy living room tables, looking for what has been once, their complete cutlery…

Nothing’s functioning properly anymore, only mobile phones seem to heroically stand against longer and longer episodes of silence…
Television sets stare back blank at disillusioned bloodthirsty ps3 players holding in their motion-control shaped hands what were once games, bearing grandpa’s horrible false-teeth’s bite marks, all because “they” refused to “f*****g play ub40″…

No kitchen’s gonna ever be what’s been before, safe harbour for biological fugitives, on their last, oven-through way to, roast with winter veg silence of the lambs…

Not even the little ones have escaped… Gummy bears, gingerbread tiny little ones embraced in a last attempt to escape grinding raspberry, apple, cranberry and bramble soaked teeth…

Forever stuck in a half-dry puddle of regurgitated red wine on the doorstep between the living and the bathroom a sandal, eternal memento for all those whose inner peace failed on the short distance between the porcelain white of their teeth, and that of the toilet seat’s…

Because only on the bent backs of others we do learn the intricate, sparkling design narrowly stretching between our bleeding foreheads and the bathroom wall’s tiles…

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Of Psychoanalyrics and Psychoanalyrism…

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I do have quite a -proven- record of linguistic maverick-ism, to the sometimes loudly outspoken frustration of some of my fellow writers, critics and others (writers and critics maybe in their own right, but not mine).
Convinced NoamChomsky-st, applying his

“Language is a process of free creation; its laws and principles are fixed, but the manner in which the principles of generation are used is free and infinitely varied. Even the interpretation and use of words involves a process of free creation.”

to “the letter”, I sometimes pride in “assembling” (all right…, have it your way: “coining”… duh…) novelty concepts mirroring needs risen amidst my own creative storms…
That’s exactly how the title giving weirdos have… how should I say… come up, while -recently- attempting to explain a very promising writer why the “smaller” details of his texts reveal about -both- his writings and his very own self, much more than any other, “bigger picture” of them.
Yes, from my very deep personal point-of-view, poetry is -or at least should be-, lyrics to the sweet whispersome song-child of a writer’s known or unknown wandering, with his known or unknown daimon / daemon…
Having said that, I should proceed to explaining my newly discovered concepts, asking myself nevertheless the reason(s) for doing so, because you see, psychoanalyrism is the new “science” of critically understanding a writer’s art from the personal angle of his own thoughts, against the twilighted canvas of his personality, regardless of ALL known standards, except for -of course- the standard need that these be expressed in a language available to the critic’s comprehension, anything else mounting to dictatorial censorship.
So, is there any other reason to explain?
Well, yesno, because while psychoanalyrics should be understood, their understanding is as multidimensionally vast as the uniqueness of every writer’s writing fountainhead, making therefore any such attempt(s) psychoanalyrically futile…

Oh, do I hear well the slowly emerging choir of merciless voices accusing me of bookish insanity and grand Freudian theft?

Yes I absolutely do, and from the heights of my cervantesque saddle, I foolly agree!