So. Questions.
Apparently when I was three years old I tormented the living daylights out of every person I constantly came into contact with by constantly asking; why? But why is that? To every explanation given I could have further why's. I'm surprised I made it to adulthood alive. I still do it to some extent. Why does it have to be that way? Why do I HAVE to do the housework? Why do I have mice? It might be a little maddening but I like to question entrenched beliefs which I don't think it necessarily a bad thing. I'm still like a dog with a bone about it as well.
As poets and writers I think the question 'why?' is a necessary one. We need to challenge whether we are writing something fresh and if not why not? We need to look around us and maybe shake things up a little by breaking the rigidity of society's paradigms by asking, why does it have to be like that? Which can bring forth interesting ideas which you can expand on in your poetry.
Another question may be; why do I have to describe a situation in that way? If you're describing a scene maybe look at it as if you are looking through the eyes of say, the cat, and instead of describing it in the first way that comes to mind perhaps challenge yourself to describe the scene in a fresh way (not too fresh we did purple prose last week).
We need to learn our craft before we can pull it apart of course. Like the writer's advice 'learn the rules and then break them'. But always ask 'why?'
A question that recently infuriated me was 'Why do people believe everything they read on the internet?' and from that I got this poem, it's unpolished but here goes;
Conspiracy theorist
Silhouetted in a plasma glow on his swivel soapbox he crouches forward, keyboard in lap, eyes like a preying fox furious upon his quest to educate us stupid peoplereferring to those who don't believe his crap as merely 'sheeple'He's convinced that 911, 7,7 were in inside jobsThat there's poison in the toothpaste you shove into your gobsLizard people walk the earth, there's poison in the skyIlluminati run the planet, everything is a lie
Cherry picking science that fits (but of course it's all conspired)Painting a picture of a world where all our fellow men are liarsHe's done his research plenty, with lots of youtube videos, Relies on his gut instinct too, there's something wrong, he just 'knows'Now if he ever left the house and did serious research, I'd might have more respect for him upon his 'truther' searchIt isn't truth he's looking for, but superioritySo he spends his days on David Ike's site, drinking lots of teaTo share it all on his Facebook and for youtube comment fightsThere may be a conspiracy but I'm sure his theory's triteMilitant athiests chemtrailing angels, no I won't bite.This argument would never end, it's circular, eternalNo requests for books for him or subscription to a journalNo chatting to some witnesses or an expert point of viewThey're in on it and because you don't believe him you are too,Opinions taken from easy to digest hyperbolic blogsConstructed into theories why his life's gone to the dogs
The truth is in the outside world, the one at which he's leeryGo and ask some experts sunshine, go find your own damn theoryBut he won't do that either, nope, their out to get him you seeHe knows too much he's a threat to national security,He eyes his mom suspiciously as she brings another brewThey already know he's on to them, have they got to her too?
His is a circular argument , everyone's in on itfrom simple explanation a cunning plot he'll try to knit.Crafting spurious connections, and driving himself crackersI for one would like to drop-kick him squarely in the knackersYes society does not sit right, his blind-sight is not wrongadvertising and the media, they sing a bullshit songThe government is lying, corporations and big Pharmaguessing fantasy motivations doesn't make him calmerThe opposite, he sits and swells devoid of vitamin DHis stress and paranoia grow amidst conspiracies
So he'll set these sheeple right on-line, he likes to mock and goadIgnoring bills that kill free speech and food banks down the roadFracking under his mum's house, his nan without much heatBut we're all sheeple now you know, no matter what we bleatA shiny foil hat he wears, to keep out waves, it's belting
He'd better take it off soon though, I think his brain is melting.
