Poetry 44 - Where Have All the Stoners Gone? Pt. 2

Where have all the stoners gone?
Those psychology majors and music school drop-outs,
bonsai growers and such.


That apartment houses someone else,
dogs are gone,
and the place smells much cleaner now.


Voices I haven't heard since middle school
are dwindling into Facebook posts and nothingness.


Pot smells like waterboarded nostalgia.

Mini Review: Scott Pilgrim vs. The World

Decent film with a good cast (Allison Pill, Aubrey Plaza, Michael Cera). It balanced the visual appeal with the generally quirky dialogue associated with Michael Cera films. That being said, it would not suffice to just listen to this film. You can't easily watch it walking in and out of the room and rest your eyes while still enjoying the film in its entirety.

What I really liked: the kinetic typography and other effects that refused to let the viewer forget the film was based off a comic series.

What I really hated about it: Michael Cera played the same role as an awkward teenager as he does in literally every other film.

Verdict: 7.5/10

Poetry 43 - VICE

Too ADD
to read arbitrary articles
on VICE about crippling thoughts
and moral bamboozles.

The elipsis is leading the pen,
the lines are built for Ford,
and there are no theatrics going on.

Emo poetry is unrevised misery.
I have no time for that here.

Poetry 42 - I Wrote a Better Poem

I wrote a better poem than this
a few years ago.

It was a slick explanation
about missing files and
ineffective communication.

I don't remember it much,
but I'm sure it was more accurate than this.

You can't ask for much
when you're talking in retrospect.

This is not appropriate,
but I will not find that file.

It may have been shredded.

Poetry 41 - A Cat Named Didact

Naming my cat Didact,
I may have unfairly held her
to unattainable standards.

Typical male.

Well, Didact was a furry, brown creature -
like an amiable bear who meows.

When someone came in,
she would meow, and continue to meow,
until I got up and pet her.

This poem is not a metaphor.

I don't lock my door at night.

Someone came in, and Didact sounded the alarm.
They pressed snooze, just as I was.

A TV, a camera,
a case of Blu-rays,
and all nine lives.

Poetry 40 - Unrevised

An artist who doesn't accept criticism
is not an artist.

They are a genius, or reserve the right to be
in their hyper-reality.

They are weeds without a fence,
foundations with no house,
lost wanderers
who will not be found.

Thank you.