I feel like a piece of surrealist art

Oh, I went to a poetry reading today.

It was pretty decent, but one poem really felt outlines to me.

It was about a man who murdered another man, and then ate him.

Here's the clincher:
The man wanted to be murdered, cut up, and eaten.

There aren't many non-expletives to describe how that makes me feel.

It's called "Letter after Dismemberment" by Allison Stine. Essentially she used quotes like this to describe the man's desire: "dream in pixels," "place me in an ice cube tray," "the man through the window, sliced by panes." (Those are not all exact, I can't find the poem online to quote)

The surrealist movement been on my mind lately, because we are also doing surrealist poetry right now in poetry101. Not gonna lie, I get a lot of negative, creepy vibes from the surrealist methods. The only time I've ever studied it, previous to the past couple days, was for English102. I did a paper on the Black Dahlia. Somebody out there proposed a theory and wrote a book describing said theory. The theory is that the Black Dahlia was killed in an attempt to bring surrealist art to life.

Disturbing.

(Creeps just thinking about this)

The book describes how aspects of Dahlia's dismemberment are similar to different surrealist art work. Everything from the way her arm was positioned, to the separation of her abdomen, to the missing triangle of flesh in her breast... All tie into different art pieces.

I'm not saying that I buy into this theory of her death.
It was just hella convincing.
And creepy.

So, now, whenever I think of surrealism, I think of poor Elizabeth Short (Dahlia). Thankfully, earlier today I started to see the beautiful side to this artform-that is the dreamlike, metaphorical essence. Maybe surrealism is just the artist wanting to depict the metaphor for each body part or object in life.

So here's just a little snippet of some stuff I'm working on:

It's an art form,
can't you see that?
It's a metaphor.
Obviously.
(Or not)
Apparently its definition is
only divided by a cord-
jumping from dictionary to thesaurus:
perception to reality-
So easily unplugged, removed
trashed.
Rude.
Maybe if your office was cleaner
and the cords tucked away-
you wouldn't be tripping.
(And also, get off the drugs)
I feel sick from your sadistic
disruption and interpretation of body
God wonders where
He failed your eyes
God wonders that
He wasn't the ultimate professional-
artist.
God wonders at you.
So do I.

So yeah... A lot different from my style. Or maybe that's just how I write when I feel angry

Then here's another snippet... This was an exercise in class

Jesus doesn't blink-
neither do you.
But the sun winks at us all
and though, it's heat
intermingles with glass
and warps the city's structures
(as if buildings could dance, ha)
the infant tree,
in your lap, gently shaken
by the train's repetition,
sucks up the sun's staccato iris
Clorophyll B, reproduction-
Gleeful xylem

Last bit:

So...
We need to talk.
Apparently, my neurons have been
(incognito)-
out of touch
But I get to see them in dreams,
We don't talk-
they're just playing a guessing game.
You seem to be the antagonist-
the big evil presence-
So, tell me, Godzilla
who are you?
Or what, and why?
I know my scent is everywhere
I know it's attracted to your nose hair
(Do dinosaurs have nose hair?)
Either way, your septum always knows
(And that wasn't a pun)
Do you ever get me in the end?
Or what happens-
Strange childhood coverup-
what's going on with me?
out of the loop with my issues-
Let's have the DTR-
define our relationship.
Maybe for once I'll run after you

Soo. Yeah, my voice feels a little different.. but eh, I'm diggin this experience.

Peace, lovelies.