TheLastIconoclast

Good morning.

I have no idea who exactly reads these works. Mute hundreds. I have no idea if any of you actually like the drivel produced in these last few years but the silence has definitely been golden.

Self pity is a mood beloved of immature poets, both in age and style. It is cancerous, and so has been the work. My poetry, when I've bothered to write it, has been of inferior grade and I'd apologize to you if I knew you.

Free verse was another such cancer. It made me lazy and emotional, it gave me an excuse to trot out a piece of work with no formal effort. It deformed and degraded my work and as someone who is a 'traditionalist' in all things, to be so postmodern and be unaware of it is an embarrassment to the known and unknown universe. 

So, I am not sure if I'll ever actually post here again. Not that there was ever a great clamour for my material. This page will function as an archive of work from 2012-2018, charting a young lad's poetry from late school through college and into graduate studies. The works were, necessarily, disproportionately about women and religion- the two great loves of any man's life. Some real gems exist here, buried under silt and emotionalism. I will soon blowtorch off the crap and collect something worth publishing in meatspace.

Consider this a semi-formal retirement of the page. Please, continue to sift through this mess for your own reading (dis)pleasure. I won't judge. These were the things I have loved, and may yet love again.

Yours with a handshake,
TLI. 

Hello.

These are the words that I have loved. 

Here you will find gems, garbage, love and hate. Reform and failure to reform. 

Here you will find references to strangers, women I loved and lost, friends I loved and lost.

Here you will peek, uncomfortably, like a peeping Tom, into dreams and desires, aspirations and failures.

You can see someone grow, over long years, and warp like plastic in the heat. 

You'll see where I put things where dust will not contend with them and rain never destroy them.

Hello. 

I write poetry. Big surprise huh? Not all of it is to everyone's taste. I get that. I respect it. If you don't like my work that is fine. To be frank, I don't like some of MY OWN work.

I had some git take down my work and kick me out of the group 'Classical Poetry' because I offended his pretty little pink view of things with "The Weakling". I see some really offensive shit on DA. Seeing things making fun of God and Jesus offends the fuck out of me. Should they be allowed to stay up? HELL YES THEY SHOULD.

Because offense is subjective. I've told jokes that have drawn stony stares and roars of laughter. I respect other people's right to offend me. Tolerance goes both ways.

If you don't like it, you can drown in my smegma you fucking fascist.

People say I am a rude bastard. Those people would be right. I make it a hobby to make fun of people.

I make fun of straight people, gay people, white people,black people, Asian people, liberals, conservatives, atheists and Christians, nerds, geeks, dorks and sports nuts. I make fun of love and happiness and hatred and music. I make fun of television shows. I make fun of anime and it's legions of weaboo fans even though I am one of them. I make fun of married people and unmarried people. I make fun of everyone and everything except for God and that is because he asked me nicely.

Damn. First milestone, eh?