Chris D. Aechtner's Blog
Dreamt a dream
about falling asleep -
woke up in yet another one.
A near-seamless string of dreams within dreams.
As I become older,
I still retain the eternal heart of a 6 year old child.
Sort of like Peter Pan....
and I will always take my chances with Captain Hook.
Most Recent Blog Post
The Interludes Between Fallen Empires: March of the Pigs **Edit**
Blog Posted:12/10/2012 9:58:00 AM
I do not expect people to read through all of these lines,
it is enough to think one person might have read in-between the words,
noticed that I wanted to write about how my doubts and fears
are simmering on the surface, how I am purging myself onto bleach,
to cleanse the grime staining what's left beneath.
And what's left, is love.
A romance for life,
a nearly hopeless romantic who cannot always transfer it properly onto paper.
Not the pure essence of it all.
No, not in flowery lines - a cheap, plastic bouquet
compared to my true emotions,
my dreams, my hope.
The blank sheet of paper seemed too beautiful to tarnish
with my plundering hooves;
to be torn apart with horns sharpened by the Earth,
piles of peat-moss smoldering from the lightning of my Heart.
But I couldn't evade thoughts concerning the pigs.
March of the pigs,
the swine are marching strong
to the steady drone of insect-song.
We are all born unique,
yet the majority dies as clones,
the majority dies as clones.
The wind licks at you,
this dark spell you are under,
has you dumbstruck by the gate,
and it hurts every muscle
just to walk back to the house -
now this home that you've made,
looks haunted from the yard.
You can hear those distant bells,
and you know they will never leave,
it's as if your church is crying out,
like the wolf calls to her young.
And the dark it never enters,
but it also never leaves,
this spark they gave you,
is just an ember, all but out -
a reflection of your fallen empire.
You call my name in the dark,
try pulling me back to the start,
the condensation is a tension.
Frightened, under attack,
I slither upon my belly, shedding skin.
I have too much pride to beg,
too much pride to call you master,
so I slither upon my belly, shedding skin,
not living the way you want me to,
not fulfilling the nightmares of your past.
You haunt me most in the light,
the thought of you doesn't sit right,
I heal in the darkness,
listening to the marching pigs,
as I count my shedded skin.
Yeah, we are crawling along
on our hands and knees,
but I swear to you
we'll surivive, pass on the seeds -
hope exists in the blood pouring
from the wounds on our palms,
as we drag ourselves along
the asphalt of city streets.
Before this present empire fell,
before the latest march of the pigs,
you were so innocently precocious.
In my memories, there's the river,
your house and the church.
There's the garden
where the nettles meet the rose -
this is where we'd hide ourselves,
yes, we were only kids,
but you couldn't have made us believe it.
Those were part of the garden rules,
just as you always said.
You would call out the garden rules like commands,
and we would all obey,
while you stifled giddy laughter as you spoke.
Then we would chase our tails
until the sun forgot to shine,
and our parents called our names,
until we were the only ones left.
Oh, you'll never know just how much I loved you so,
you'll never know how much I loved you.
From the garden, we would walk the river banks,
to the church by silent fields,
amongst the lavender and headstones,
larks dressed in their sunday best.
Beautiful liar, precious whore,
I asked you not to give in completely
to God-Money, for it will leave your head like a hole.
No you can't take it,
no you can't take it,
no you can't take that away from me.
Head like a hole,
black as your soul,
I'd rather die than give you control.
Head like a hole,
black as your soul,
I'd rather die than give you control.
Bow down before the one you serve,
you're going to get what you deserve.
Bow down before the one you serve,
you're going to get what you deserve.
God-Money's not looking for the cure,
God-Money's not concerned about the sick among the pure.
God-Money let's go dancing on the backs of the bruised,
God-Money's not the one to choose.
You left for good,
broken apart by the gears,
and it was many years
before the next children
tearing open their third eye,
tearing open their third eye.
how frail you seem in certain angles of light and shadow,
with your cavities,
fractured attention deficiency,
and thickening skin of apathy.
You are a victim to the plague,
playing amongst flowers filled with poison,
staring at screens to fill in the boredom
of having your young mind brimming
with over-stimulation -
information seeps in without warning,
beamed into your skull
by 360 degrees
of high-def, infra-red, wireless mobility.
24/7 programming of insidious adverts
breaches your skull in a mind-rape,
proving how the Death of a Salesman
was only a sideshow distraction
for the Kleptocracy to successfully purchase
the dark side of the moon -
control the tides,
control the mind,
buying our hearts and souls
in order to auction off our future
to the highest bids of people already dead.
When job positions within monopolies,
prevent us from working together
towards a goal far greater
than lining the pockets of a few,
when schools stop us from educating ourselves,
and are instead,
assembly lines churning-out tin soldiers,
when governments prevent humanity
from achieving self-determination,
when media keeps us informed about current events,
rather than us becoming involved in the events,
then only in resistance will we find each other;
will we find ourselves in the purest sense.
I believe in you,
there is still hope left upon your shoulders.
You are strong,
your mind cuts like a blade.
And if you care,
if you dare,
what a significant burden for you to bare.
The time has come,
the time is ripe,
this is it,
there are no more second chances.
The Kleptocracy broke my back,
but my mind is still intact,
and I know you can do better than I did,
believe that you can do better than we did.
I pray for your success,
pray for your safety and protection,
everything rides on you,
everything rides on you now....
....in warrens deep below,
Babylon-kids write love songs,
and above ground, people preach rights and freedoms,
while enslaving the world in the chains of a democracy
that has never truly existed.
The swine march strong
to the beat of insect-song,
but nothing is going to stop us now,
is going to stop us now.
Democracy is a dream turned nightmare,
so the Babylon-kids are keeping the dream
of a choose-your-own-adventure, alive.
This piece was an exercise in purposefully incorporating the lines of other people.
By no means, is the piece seamless, giving it a choppy feel
as it bounces between authors and the conceptual time-frames
50% of the lines are my own, taken from previously posted poems,
while the other 50%, are a mix of lyrics written by:
Maynard James Keenan, Lightbody, and Trent Reznor.
Lyrics written by Maynard James Keenan: Copyright 1996, by Toolshed Music/
EMI Virgin Records.
Lyrics written by Lightbody: Copyright 2011, by Polydor Ltd (UK)
Lyrics written by Trent Reznor: Copyright 1989(for PHM lyrics) and 1994(for TDS lyrics),
by Trent Reznor and Interscope Records.
I have a version of this piece were the lines written by the other authors are fully referenced; doing so, makes the visual presentation appear quite muddled and chaotic.
I will not ever claim this concept piece to be my own.
I did post it in a blog, which will eventually be deleted.
This will be the only public posting.
Again, it was merely an exercise.
(An author's note. Reznor's lines involving "the pigs", were written for an album
created at 10050 Cielo Drive in the Sharon Tate house.
The studio was dubbed: "Le Pig".
The house was demolished soon after Reznor used it.
In interviews, Reznor explained how he isn't a Charlie Manson freak, but admitted to the American folklore having rubbed off on him,
adding to the aggressive and haunting layered feel of the album.
For me, "the pigs" are more closely relatable as envisioned by George Harrison.)
I take plagiarism seriously. I go to great lengths researching my lines afterwards,
making sure that the strange recesses of my memory didn't play tricks on me
while writing a new piece; taking pride, reinforcing my integrity,
to maintain my own poetic voice,
even though many people argue that everything has already been written.
With this concept piece, it was so much fun to purposefully chew on the work of others,
and join the mainstream rank of amateur poets who plagiarize on wot almost appears
to be a near-daily basis -- it made me feel normal lol.
Aside from limericks, I find people plagiarize the most, when writing basic
quatrains and rhyming couplets. Amateur poetry sites like poetrysoup.com
are absolutely rife with plagiarism on many levels.
On a different note, not that it is of any interest to people,
of poems that I have written since around August,
I have only publicly posted less than 20% of them.
I have been sharing my newly written poems with another poet;
but that is it so far.
Interestingly enough, I have been finding this fresh turn to be very exhilarating,
feeling no pressure to publicly post my new work.
I used to post anything and everything that I wrote.
Even though the general public might not find my recent, un-posted work
any more interesting than my older work,
I am taking my recent writing in several new directions,
finding a strong sense of inner purity when doing so.
Rarely before, have I produced work with such inner purity,
pulling-out material from deep within my core.
Anyhoo, enough about me.
I hope you all enjoy your holiday celebrations,
whichever holidays you celebrate,
and however you may celebrate them;
or however you may not celebrate them.
As for December 21st, 2012,
for centuries people have mentioned how nobody is able to prophecize
when the world ends,
yet humbly, I will claim how the world will NOT end
on December 21st, 2012.
So, from December 22nd and onwards,
unless we meet unfortunate events such as getting hit by a bus,
I look forward to reading some of your newly written/posted poetry.
*EDIT* -- Today, I just can't seem to shut-up.
In my previous blog:
I offered anti-Christian quotes as given by the Founding Fathers of America.
A few people left the starting gate too soon,
while other peed-off members deleted their comments.
Such reactions are almost expected when dealing with crass quotes
made towards one's religion,
also when dealing with people carrying a grudge;
a personal vendetta.
In some of the off-blog and off-site discussion/debate,
intriguing angles and arguements were given,
including how the merging of State and Church
is definitely not conducive to the survival of the human species,
yet secularism isn't quite the answer either.
When a governing body is comprised of a lot of religious members,
the Heads of State do not act with more morality;
but if pure secularism doesn't work either,
where can a governing body attain its moral compass?
Or is this an oxymoron when dealing with anything to do with politics?
The Founding Fathers, and the following governing body
comprised of Theists(vs the Deism of the Founding Fathers),
built America upon a foundation of lies and treachery,
including genocide upon the Indigenous people of the area,
building the new republic upon the backs of slaves,
helping to set up a crookedly biased banking system, etc.
Neither Deists nor Theists ran a moral government,
and the Secularists would be too busy doing _____????,
to run a moral government,
so where does the answer lie?
Ok, I have a few other random thoughts and questions.
Is there a deeper philosophy or trend behind why some people
have their pen-names and/or poem titles in lower-case,
and other people, in upper-case?
Am I missing something?
Did I miss the boat on this one?
Or is it a meaningless preference?
l was also wondering how some people are able to enter almost every
member contest on the Soup. How is this accomplished without going
certifiably insane? Please share!
And lastly, how are some people able to leave 100 plus comments
on poems, almost every single day of the year!? How do you do it!?
Are there a lot of speed-readers on this site?
If I left 100 plus comments per day,
I would end up feeling very drained and empty inside.
But, I do realize how different we all are,
including the way in which we are hard-wired.
To each their own -- wotever makes one happy!
|Date Posted||Poem Title||Form||Categories
|5/2/2013||Edinburgh||Free verse (vers libre)||dedication,
|4/18/2013||Lantern on the Water||Free verse (vers libre)||heart,hope,journey,life,l
|4/16/2013||Transcendence: Religion is obsolete||Tetractys||change,growth,hope,truth,
|4/12/2013||I pray for the non-believers of truth who instead uphold the lies of religion||Prose Poetry||hope,recovery from...,rel
|4/3/2013||Salvation comes with a far greater sacrifice than blind faith and car-wash fundraisers||Prose Poetry||faith,hope,life,social,ba
|3/29/2013||Wood and Nails||Free verse (vers libre)||easter,faith,love,passion
|3/7/2013||Stygstrome - Updrafts||Free verse (vers libre)||anniversary,happiness,hop
|2/2/2013||Attawapiskat: Orphans of the Stone and Sky||Free verse (vers libre)||courage,dedication,hope,l
|1/24/2013||Aboriginal Sin||Free verse (vers libre)||forgiveness,hope,life,lov
|1/15/2013||Money-God||Free verse (vers libre)||dedication,hope,love,reco
|1/10/2013||When All That's Left Is To Love||Triolet||faith,love,passion,romanc
|12/27/2012||Love's Thirst-Quenching Drink -- A Poem Created With A 'Love Poem Generator'||Free verse (vers libre)||love,passion,
|12/17/2012||Isle of Bast||Free verse (vers libre)||father daughter,love,myst
|11/28/2012||Autobahn||Free verse (vers libre)||history,life,mystery,soci
|11/21/2012||An Open Communique to the Rogues||Prose Poetry||hope,life,mystery,passion
|11/19/2012||The Good ol' Daze -- 2012 Fossil Remix -- PG13||Prose||satire,social,
|11/15/2012||11 - 2012 haiku - 006||Haiku||nature,seasons,
|11/14/2012||11 - 2012 haiku - 005||Haiku||introspection,nature,seas
|11/13/2012||11 - 2012 haiku - 004||Haiku||passion,
|11/13/2012||11 - 2012 haiku - 003||Haiku||angst,dedication,history,
|A Deeper Divide||Verse||passion,people,philosophy
|The Devil's Tide||Narrative||adventure,life,loss,sea,s
|Recording/Re-playing/Recording/Re-playing||Free verse (vers libre)||life,people,philosophy,ti
|The Skipping of Stones||Choka||nature,sea
|MUSEUM OF MODERN ART||Free verse (vers libre)||inspirational,uplifting
|This Night ||Sonnet||imaginationstars,
|Day of Reckoning||Choka||nature
|Go Ask Alice||Quatrain||allegory,devotion,fantasy
|the farm boy ||Tanka||childhood,nature
|A. Long Learned Tale.||I do not know?||epic,space,
|Socialites||Free verse (vers libre)||lifenight,night,
|Priorities Viewed by a Dying Man||Villanelle||death,introspectionnature
|Answered Prayer ||Sijo||life,nature
|Haiku for Hidden Habitats||Haiku||nature
|Raindrops||I do not know?||adventure,angst,art,imagi
|Pretentious Collaboration Written During Conversation (Credit to Emmily Rosa) ||Free verse (vers libre)||people,love,may,time,
|I Remember...When I Could Fly||Free verse (vers libre)||song-lyricme,me,
|Anxious Dissolution||Free verse (vers libre)||allegory,depression,intro
|Is this a Grook or Not? (Nothing)||Grook||confusion
|Let me write you something. ||Free verse (vers libre)||loveme,write,epic,me,writ
|Under the Same Moon -3-Way-Collaboration-||Couplet||friendship,lifeworld,life
|Breaking||Free verse (vers libre)||lost love