Some of My Favorite Recent Postings by Matt Cozart

I am in Wussy-Autistic-Incommunicado mode lately and not at all ashamed about it. I'm actually enjoying the break from the War of empathy slash deep comprehension of my peers and their deep commitment to the meaning or meaningless of existence slash I didn't mean to freak you out or ruin your day slash I love you I'll tell you more horror later and hit me back with some of yours slash what's on t.v. tonight period I guess I'm done slashing you now.

I decided I just want to do my own writing for a little while and tune out all the cognitive dissonance of Things Which Are Annoyingly Not Me.

I think it's a healthy move.

It was like take up yoghurt (yes I deliberately obnoxiously added the h) or slice away the entire corpus of American poetry from my body like the 500 pounds of fat they remove from those poor people on those documentaries on channels it takes five minutes just to page upwards to.

And I wasn't in the mood for yoghurt.

I think I will have to have several follow up surgeries to correct the extra skin left after Ampo was removed.

You know how that goes. Yadda yadda.

While it's true I did officially Secede from American literature (statement over at right, signed affidavit on file, all individuals in this film are over the age of 18, no minors and no miners in fact, either) I still know there are certain "safehouses" where I can cross the Border and know that a skirmish or full battle is unlikely.

One such place that I like to take my Harriet Tubman ass on my Underground Railroad peregrinations by night and stealth, using the stars as my guide and singing slave songs I learned from when I visited other blogs, is Matt Cozart's (ne Walker) blog The Booth of Our Conniving. See my blogroll.

Matt has been writing some really great poetry lately, and his poetry has a great funny Oversoul guiding it like some sort of weird Beatrice in mint-green Converses who huffs...but only huffs like lavendar Renuzit or something...so it's okay.

Because the poems are often deploying lavendar fields in the foyer of the scary corporate offices of Ampo Inc. LLC etc. etc.

I envision Matt on his knees with a trowel and a bunch of dirt in a huge mauseoleum of a corporate foyer planting zinnias or marigolds. With earbuds in and making the trowel sort of dance to the tune he is currently enjoying.

And then an ominous security guard asks him "What the hell" he thinks he's doing.

And Matt answers honestly.

He's planting zinnias. Or marigolds.

And then the security guard turns into a Duane Hansen security guard sculpture.

And Matt goes back to gardening.

Anyway, that's a long way to say here are a few of my favorite recent posts from a blog that's worth reading.

Best American Poetry 2009....HEADS UP!

EVERYTHING THAT FOLLOWS AFTER THIS ELLIPSIS IS MATT TALKING....




OPTIMISTIC POEM


Yak herds
vent rage.

Lattes be,
lord yes!

A new neck
digs sin—

lay I in us.

Verb gill:
ear, be it.

Lye sings,
kings go.

Sir lac,
gnash on!



SMALL HOURS




The hops are up.
The shouts are out.


The life force is banking.
My sleeve is caught in


its pollution. Changing the
subject I saw that where the newspaper
once lay there was now a butterfly's
tattered lei.


______________________________________________


I'm engaged in beautification projects. These could include dogs, geese, airplanes, coincidences, octagons, the night sky over Wilkes-Barre. I take them back to my lab and have my way with them. The paint I use is everlasting, comes from a tap attached to the brain stem of my alter ego, he in whom I place unwavering trust for all time up to this point. When intelligent people observe our interactions, it is all we can do to provide them with snacks and pairs of undeserved slippers.




THE BACKGROUND




The background is my favorite ground
Some people prefer the foreground
And still others have nothing but nice
Things to say about the middle ground


I have nothing against these people but I am not them
And so it should be no surprise that
My preference of ground is not the same as theirs


From the background I can see the foreground
But the people, animals and objects in the foreground
Cannot see me in the background
As long as they don't turn around
And they usually don't


In this way I avoid humiliation and injury
Though I do miss the foreground-dwelling animals and it pains me
To give up my acting career


The background however is the place to be if your thing
Is being an extra and mine is


________________________________________________________


Sure, I suppose you could say that I'm a romantic, in the sense that I'm happy to consort with even the most lackluster of citizens in my daily activities. I'm generous of spirit, yes, and it shows. Have you met me? Then you'll know.



I'd like to take this opportunity to lead you into a small, windowless room.


On the other hand, I would also agree that my moods are seasons, and who knows when they will turn? That towel on the chair? The truth is not so easily inferred, as I'm sure you've guessed by now. It takes a professional to diagnose, and so far I'm the only professional I know. My profession? Shoveling bagels into the lake for no apparent reason.

________________________________


Every gym has its limitations. Some only have weights and treadmills and in my opinion I don't think these should be called gyms. I would call these fitness centers. I would ask them to remove the word "gym" from their names and replace it with "fitness center". Then I would go lie down for awhile, thinking about how many Spaniards could I name. Off the top of my head, there was Ferdinand and Isabella, Francisco Franco, and that was about it. Of course I thought of Picasso, but I remembered that he is considered French for art historical purposes. Am I wrong in constantly comparing and contrasting Schubert and Schumann simply because of the similarity in names? One of them is considered Austrian; the other, German. If I am considered at all, it is likely to be as "an anonymous source", a/k/a "the man in the blue hooded sweatshirt". Either designation does me justice and is an acceptable form of payment.