Who Do I Think I Am??

This one's about the sacred speakings.

THE PROMPT: "Do you believe that incorrect spellings and grammar are acceptable in creative forms such as poetry?"

'Sup playas? Interesting concept we've got going on here. I like it.

HOW DARE YE ANGER THE GODS WITH SUCH TALK??

Enough said. The forefathers of poetry have already answered this question. They had no choice but to reconfigure words and grammar to fit into their precious metres and tambres. Hence, words like "hence", "ere", "e'er" and "dafuq".

Poetry, as does life, happens. It must, as all things should, come from the heart. It speaks to us before we can actually speak; that's how we know its validity. Occasionally, it trips us and leaves us searching for new ways of saying old things. A true poet then retrofits the language to make his (or her) lines sound "right". Look at all of your favorite poets from decades past...they raped language in the very name of the poems studied in English textbooks, and nobody flinches.

But I'mma tell you what: you wanna jerk off the language in your text messages and Facebook statuses? That, my friends, does not make you a poet. No way, no how. "I C U l8r" doesn't even make sense, let alone dare to touch the ink of the fountain pen our poetic forefathers wrote with. "2mrw" means nothing if you've got any semblance of literacy! Fucking say what you mean, and mean what you say! So long as it isn't mean.

But poetry...the sweet, sweet vice of mine. Sure, words need to be manipulated and adjusted. In context, of course. Just like a chiropractor thinks all backs need a good cracking. Sometimes in a good way, and sometimes in a bad, bad way.

Personally, I don't adhere to rules about poetry. I write like a pen stuck a needle into a vein and I don't stop until I'm drained. The mess is left for the reader to clean up. See that yellow case next to my name? I didn't make it on WDC by blogging. I got that on Stories.com because I had some mad ass poetic skills. They godfathered me in, back in the day. And if the late greats can make up stuff to fit in their lines, who's to say I can or can't? Who's the judge? When did you become history? Word. Thought so.

Now, making shit up is only cool if there's a good story for it. That is, don't write a new language unless you've got the sack to prove it. Or something...someone said one time somewhere. I can assure you that while I may make up words to prove my poetic license, all events spoken through my poetry are 100% lived in and legit. I did that shit, I felt that shit, I meant that shit, and dammit, I lived to write that shit. From the heart, man. From the heart.

Check my port here on WDC. I've actually added some new items from the last few months. Some have real words, and some have some made-up words, bent into a poetic landscape. SHAMELESS PLUG!!

In closing, I would just like to reiterate my stance on the prompt. My favorite poets from back in the day made shit up to make their lines work, and I think that's ok within reason, y'all. Make it right.

MUSICAL BREAK!!

Poets? Don't tell me what the poets are doin'.

Never mind. I didn't get a chance to use a real computer today. I would've uploaded "Poets" by The Tragically Hip again for the umpteenth time anyway.

VITAL STATS:

Just got home from the doctor's office, so here's the eagerly awaited left ankle update: They took my cast off. My foot doesn't look like a foot. I can't even describe it. There's a two inch incision on the inside part of the ankle, and about a four to five inch incision on the outside. The nice nurse pulled all the sutures out...took a few minutes and was relatively painless. She steri-stripped it up and I went for more x-rays. Then they put a new cast on it, which is about the same size as the last cast. I'll rock that for about four weeks, go back, get more x-rays, get a gigantic boot to wear, and a few weeks later I'll get some IV sedation, a local anaesthetic, and the hardware will come out. It's still non-weight bearing, which sucks.

The doc gave me a copy of my x-ray, and when I say "hardware", fool ain't jokin'. One long plate holding two long screws, two medium-sized screws, and three smaller screws. I managed to tear a few ligaments in there as well, which is pretty sick. The ankle is supposed to fit a certain way against the bone of the leg; mine still does not. Ergo, staying completely off it is a must, lest I snap screws and reshift everything prematurely. I tried uploading a pic of the x-ray to WDC directly from the Blackberry, but I can't seem to get the sizing right (even when using my photo editing app), so if ya wanna see it, it's on Facebook.

Oh, and by the time this is all over with, I'll probably need to shave my legs, since my left leg is now as smooth and sexy as a supermodel's. A supermodel with jacked-up bones out of place.

That's all I've got in me for now. After crutching back and forth to bus stops in 25 degree weather while wearing shorts because pants are too much of a pain in the ass, the warmth has pretty much returned to my body and I'm spent. Peace, and GOODNIGHT NOW!!