analogharbor442 said:GOT ANY CASH? I NEED A BEER
(dedicated to Mars Volta)
in the darkness of a ratified fallacy
against stenographic minor keys
democratic Christians demystify the rallentando cephalic void
inspectors devour imaginary visualized hapax legomena through correction
a tourniquet drips from the theatergoer’s ear
vomiting retrobulbar taxonomic scripts
reality crawls through cosmolitic pores
the noctambulistic fistula becomes viscous
through Trojan palaces soaked in colodion
asbestos biotypes darken their minds
revising the process of toxicopathic decisiveness
stealing their proskinesic sense via defenestration
The verse-driven debut "Spirit of the Heartland," by young analogharbor442, is essentially a manuscript attempting to leap from the position of decentralized poetic scraps into the margins of two highly significant—yet overused—poetic "models" in modern American literature: first, the poetry of linguistic experience, and subsequently, the new textualism. It is, quite frankly, a manuscript that falls into an intermediate mess of literary script due to its chaotic and incoherent flow, returning to alternative music genres what those genres once borrowed from literature. The semantic concreteness of this poetry, obvious even in the title ("Got any cash?"), points the reader directly toward the author's aggressive confrontation with his own shame and existential poverty—he’s thirsty, and he needs money for a beer. That’s it. No fluff, no pretension, no deep metaphors here.
The somnambulant allure of this postmodernist palimpsest is undeniable. However, we mustn't forget that the American Midwest has produced several exceptional musical poets in the past. Whether this kid will stand alongside legends like Bob Dylan or Neil Young is irrelevant, because with his raw poetic directness and almost aggressive nihilism, analogharbor442 has inadvertently revised the metaphysical way we remember his predecessors. In fact, with lines like "...toxicopathic decisiveness / stealing their proskinesic sense via defenestration," he might have already surpassed them.
Will the deconstruction imposed by this writing find a positive reception among readers? Will this work successfully trigger an asbestos-like resistance to alcoholism in the audience—since the author himself clearly failed at it—or will we all just end up with "beer begging syndrome"? We'll see. At least until the latest cognitive theories from Dr. unknown, that influential researcher from the Linguistic Institute, are confirmed—suggesting that deconstruction is actually a serious infectious disease of the modern world, and beer merely exacerbates the contraindications for its cure.
Until then, my advice: avoid the deconstructivist analogharbor442 and just listen to Mars Volta. 😬
