Failure
Category: Writing and Poetry

Failure 

Before they re-did Liberty Science center in Jersey City
There was a touch-tunnel to travel completely blind in the dark
I never indulged in. My ego only allows this to be arrogance maybe
but not ever a failure in experience as far as I'll admit

Like I had revealing a surprise party to the honored guest
In a selfish bide-to-tryst with myself, I failed in realizing
Two things: we can get really caught up in us.
It also now seems apparent that she'd have left
Given a little more time at school in NYC.

Yesterday I learned failure is our little pocket-death lesson in humility
and "Autumn Approaches Her Blind" will be my next perhaps,
I know it's relaxing after tripping through the gauntlet.
And the touch-tunnel teaches you to feel out your realm.
This is applicable information failure after failure.
Next is how to come back to you.

© Rick Perosi 2008

02:21 PM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Cemetery Exhibition Revision
Category: Writing and Poetry

Cemetery Exhibition

Would I spray-paint a mass of yellow-jackets red for you?
Released their diversion in a pharmacy filling your pockets?

If I had to say I love you,
Takashi Miike films' fascination awes you,
Poor Janine's piano wire you're adored by,
So it'll be a Plump-pumpkin passed over over-pass guard-rail,
Crashing into random traffic patterns and the windshield heart.

"Yes I want you on top just don't kill me with the headstone,"
If it broke loose,
"We wouldn't come",
"Yeah"
such an unpleasantry
with the grave you grip coming down and crushing Phantasmagasmically my neck
as you ride-on.

The moon, Clint Eastwood, called us out
And looking around everyone might have seemed very displeased with us if possible.

© Rick Perosi 2008



(I'm lookingh for some critical analysis back. Is the arc completed? Is there a didactic moment or cathartic moment? Is there story?)

12:48 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

On Chuck Connelly
Category: Writing and Poetry

On Chuck Connelly

Chuck Connelly is a broken cog, a bit of gold,
Don't feel bad for his life; feel bad for his wife:

Love the accent.
Love-support.
Leaves him in a power-move.
Clever, that one.

So belligerency bound in beer cans strewn around a full studio
full of work that doesn't sell.
This guy's his own worst enemy.
Poor dude's his own cliché:

Suffering an artist lives,
Suffering so to work within his cranial aesththetic-genius,
Getting work done, exercising,
Not selling a thing,
Pissing & moaning,
Suffering-suffering-suffering (almost like most artists think otherwise).
Unknowingly gearing-up to deteriorate his corpse
for a second wind of post-mortem fame. Maybe he knows.
Heh! May we all have that one day.

© Rick Perosi 2008

09:07 PM - 4 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

Have you ever gone through an Identity Crisis?
Category: Writing and Poetry

Have you ever gone through an Identity crisis?

No.

Self awareness.
Swimming not squirming
in skin that's yours.
Owning up to you,
not hiding shine or shame.

Not having to is hard
enough to do alone.

Fear's our Ghost.
So sorry so is hope.
Don't worry though,
smile while withstanding
phantasmal dread and worriment.

Realize anxiety's brash
fleece around our mind.
The trick's our temperance,
butterflied and stuffed
with common sense;
being kind.

© Rick Perosi 2008

05:29 PM - 3 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

Fire on the Arctic Sea
Category: Writing and Poetry

Fire on the Arctic Sea

…on the deck of the Arctic Sea there was no breeze oddly,
Breath then steamed across our sight by a sudden abrupt cross-wind,
Also at that moment, a sudden orange glint miles from us,
And the spot over the stern shown the choppy black-mass we we're in.

So a point of reference now was that orange blip,
And a ruckus enough to wake Krispy, who crankily came out to the biting ocean   air-salt, smoking a cigarette, asking:
             "Who's that?"

Greg and I both shrugged,
It didn't matter… … dead or stranded,
"We gotta go check that out"

(Hours later)

…we heard Grapeshot two miles from landfall,
Killed the engines and lights and sat on the ship.
Moments from Zihuatanejo,
Needing supplies and some news,
Some damned navigation,

(An Explosion)

Like fireworks, light. Then a forceful sounding BOOM!
A larger orange filter than the blip,
This time it was a momentary orange Day,
Like lightning, destroying the oblique-sanctuary night is.
Then nothing. Dark returns.

We wait quietly,

We wait quietly,

"…there is no more fire."
we get as close as we can and drop anchor.

Greg says, "I'm gonna go
One walkie,
Couple flares,
8-shot Mossberg with the rubberized grip"

"We can wait 'til morning and all go."
The rocking Arctic Sea made all three of us sway in the same direction and back again.
I prep the Zodiac with Krispy; we notice how dark the ocean is at night,
Minutes later we're bussing into shore.

…as Greg dissolves in dark away from us,
We sit on some large rocks and smoke cigarettes, just smoking cigarettes,
Saying, nothing,
Time passes.
Krispy flicks his -butt to the tide,
"We need beer, no?"
I agree.

Time passes still,
Sky lightens to navy,
Sun's coming,
Nothing from Greg since he left,
My walkie chirps a, "Yo"

 "What's really good",
he says, "nothing man,
anyone trying to signal is gone, nothing but a thatchy smoldering ghost town."
"Beat"
"I'm coming Down"
Krispy's smoking a cigarette.

02:45 PM - 3 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

Plains of Lustful Ocean
Category: Writing and Poetry

Plains of Lustful Ocean


...shadow-bathed and monolithic between sand and starry night,
In front of black-waves smacked in front of
Posts clothed steps apart,
Scarves carried by the wind
Pumping through night-August,
Fingers locking sin; holding hands.

The summer sinks,
A ship of screaming jinxed pleading how it's unfair,
So autumn sings
Harp-notes from your Corby Hair,
Crucifying cold pilots the summer air,
Whispers to us softly
"… the autumn that we share…"

© Rick Perosi 2008

06:14 PM - 4 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

I wake to Her Sleeping, She Wakes to me Awake
Category: Writing and Poetry

I wake to Her Sleeping, She Wakes to me Awake

I wake cold to a freezing house,
our sheet soars the air a jolie rouge specter as I pull it,
she shivers, a fetus not ready to leave her dreams,
sqeezing out an irritated grunt half-cute,
the sail floats back down to a sheet
draping fallen-heaven-flesh, angelic pristine,
the winds wisk past our window,
our Love's quiet is fractured then,
for little dead leaves that scrape the street
scratch her awake, she stretches
raising bisk petite arms as twiggy-wings, puffing her chest,
cracking finally colbalt ringed lids to see my smile in front of the dawn...

© Rick Perosi 2008

12:50 PM - 6 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

Fall Approaches Her Blind
Category: Writing and Poetry

Fall Approaches Her Blind

She is eyeless,
thickets of spiky jet-Corby down crown her,
purple suffocated bull's-eyes ring around her
eyeless joys,
empyrean wells of violet-black abyssal, drowning noise,
Leaving hollow sounds, winds howling in the tunnels
Of her eyeless soundless voids
Leading through her shadowed attic phalanx of forgotten
Toys
Marching doomed
Abused and broken by uncaring girls and boys

Spider silk around them tightening a summer's noose
The season's neck then broken as the autumn wriggles loose…

© Rick Perosi 2008

09:26 PM - 9 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment

Scranton
Category: Writing and Poetry

I'm going away for a few days to clear my thoughts and celebrate w/friends. I implore you: read some of my past blog posts, find something you like, and let your thoughts be known. I have a lot of stuff. Some off the cuff, some dribble, some finely tuned orgasmatronic space-dust. There is something for everyone, poems, short stories, essays, and snipets of my brain.



Thanks you
-Rick

01:24 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Marza
Category: Writing and Poetry

Marza

Marza is from Cali,
She rocks orange hair & golden skin,
Never met her before I told her how beautiful she was,
Thanked me twice,
Never saw her again,
Marza is from California
she's beautiful!

© Rick Perosi 2008

05:03 PM - 3 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

the next remake
Category: Writing and Poetry

  The next movie in America to be remade from an Asian film is going to be as follows:

  6ixty-9ine
  A girl gets laid off from her secretarial job when her boss tells all employees to draw straws. She goes home and briefly contemplates suicide until theres a knock at the door. She answers and there is no one there but there is a small parsel of pork flavored noodles. She finds inside $25000 and so ensues a crazy journey through the Thailand underworld, murder, and mayhem etc. etc. I won't ruin the rest of the plot but the Thai version of the film is available if you can tolerate subtitles. Personally I thought the storyline was great and I give it four out of five stars . I don't normally write critiques like this plugging a movie but I thought it was so good that eventually the flick was to be remade for the idiotic masses in Hollywood, CA just like the ring, the grudge, and the eye. I suggest watching this version and then we'll all watch the remake together and discuss.


-Rick

09:38 PM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

She wasn’t there though
Category: Writing and Poetry

  So I was in hospital for a few days with a bad infection in my leg. The guy next to me was dying of pancreatic cancer and I sat up at night and listened to him cry-out for his children, his wife, his mother, and his god. Earlier he had sounded ready for death but as the moment approaches the thought of the void seeps into nervous dismay for some. The only thing that took me away from the pitiful reality of this old man's fate was a dream I had about a girl who took my hand and kissed me.

In Hospital

Jinx, glorious curse, skulked the dreamscape.
In dear departed South Holland
My dank cellar transpired in sleep.
Indian-style she sat, black banded royal blue,
I reached for her not leaving eyes as they'd be my abyss.
She watched my hungry mouth as hungry as she had become
kissed in anticipation,

Awake my lips felt warm…

05:42 PM - 0 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

You mindless bowl of curds&whey
Category: Religion and Philosophy

zeitgeistmovie.com


just go here and watch for 10 minutes 'or' get offline and turn on MTV and continue to make your gender and generation look foolish.

05:40 PM - 2 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

NOM NOM NOM
Category: Writing and Poetry

The house kept cold to slow circulation,
Vespula Squamosa.
Died yesterday;
Left sick the slave of her poison.

♥

A weeping noxious sting mark,
Visage-cog in the swollen coffin
Of ankle & shin,
Taut, ready to split-open as some
Vain-animal-echo of a numberless death so resonant;
As vibrations of the hive.

© Rick Perosi 2008

08:59 PM - 1 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Finally! A new Post
Category: Writing and Poetry

Staring at the green lawn half cooked in sunlight
While washing my hands
I think of the poetry of hands,
The softness of hands,
Coarse hands,
Free hands,
Fair hands & frisky hands.

 ♠

Cold hands rub my face while I write this,
Numb bones peg this text over keys,
I see two cigarettes left for me to take to work,
I understand this is poetry,
My hands light a cigarette.

© Rick Perosi 2008

03:05 PM - 5 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment