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Jack Jordan. Click the Next or Previous links below the poem to navigate between poems. Remember, Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth. Thank you.
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INTANGIBLE ASSET – The Transcript
He learned very young rather vaguely very untidily and blissfully unaware. He thought the only reason to do something was to do it differently to establish its difference by his own existence. It sheltered him from the world, kept a certain distance from reality, a very private person, a mythical figure conducting the water, shaping its sound until it was a bit wet, the humidity absolutely a revelation, the sudden clarity and unaffected structure sounding like a machine, not human in this phenomenal performance.
Composing, he forgot where he was he was in a trance. He would go back into his trance easily, there to attain that distance from the world that requires a lot of work, a lot of work, and he would go back into his trance quiet secluded preparing new things reworking old ones. He had enormous control over himself, transcendent ecstatic power with immense enthusiasm, a fragile person himself, throw stones at him and he will break.
And did you love him? Yes. Too.
The more he was used the more he was consigned to the netherworld, a particular kind of genius, a total identity in himself, a moonlight sonata. There was nothing to show changes, all the juice out of him, a peculiar thing to do if you want one word. Yes, the northern part of his being. The only alternative to peace was a mind crack-up, some room to think, a space to be in by himself. That other part that wasn’t evident was hidden. Anything pretentious made him ill, but the children loved it.
He had scattered memories for a while; that was a bit of an issue. He was actually extremely cautious and careful in a very real way, so at peace, a weekend thing, a very straightforward triangle, dead, a force of evil, sort of a variable perspective, the unexpected fruit of that rather more democratic assemblage, and he woke in the morning to find that everything had changed.
A larger theme drew him to the project, a post-Freudian glance, buying the best, and he loved the sound in there. He was mesmerized and could not believe the technique was absolute perfection from beginning to end, a little bit strange, he thought of the kind he had never had before, a world he could control, an odd instrument.
He could not operate as time went on. He did not function. The eccentricities became more important very intense and engaged for his sake as his paranoia became more evident a limitation he couldn’t accept. His personality began to change radically. Someone else began to emerge, but getting there was something else, gaining something and losing something at the same time, farewell a goodbye. It records his frustration.
What are the reasons for maintaining, for ending he could not easily surrender? It turned out that was the reason and he was very distraught. It was a very sad moment in his life eccentric life doesn’t have to make sense. The more he stared at his own body the more helpless he seemed to dismiss it as nature-boy stuff.
He didn’t actually go to the hospital, and felt very uncomfortable about that, but at least they weren’t all aimed at him, he was his own man. Sometimes they resolved themselves sometimes they didn’t emerge with the raccoons at twilight, take a little time and pull on this section, the most glamorous person he knew: joyful exuberance.
He messed up the words he’d gone too far this different man. There are certain things that become more beautiful. He saved for life a certain fulfillment from life. He was making it worse and he was calling after a big hole that suddenly opened in his chest. Definitely shocked he was not going to make it something was wrong. The king is dying and when it finished that was the end.