How To Be A Douche Writer- W.G. Mullins

Posted: December 30, 2010 in Humor, W.G. Mullins
Tags: , , , , , , ,

The internet and social networking sites have given rise to a new, dangerous and worrying trend. I am of course talking about the armature poet. Not content with littering their own “Dear Diaries” with their personal feelings and dreamscapes, they now feel the need… No, the desire to share with the world the amazing poetic labyrinth of free form ideas and constructs they have compiled.

But to understand the douche, we must first understand what a poet is? A poet is usually someone who lacks the patience or skill to construct a proper narrative, characters or setting, instead relying on vague references to “Sea snailed chocolate fingers that cross the divide of Io. Stopping only to smile and murder Jesus.” I of course just made that sentence up; it means nothing, it signifies nothing and it is a metaphor for nothing. But using “poetic licence and interpretation” I could easily make that sentence sound like it holds some deep meaning about life, the universe and the essence of God!

Sea snailed = The author is obviously the snail, moving through life in a slow, ponderous fashion, which enables him to take in the world around him and to better share with you, the dear reader.

Chocolate fingers = This is obviously a metaphor for being clumsy and awkward. The chocolate fingers contain so much sweetness, but are unable to hold onto the things around them. The chocolate is what draws people in, but is ultimately what stops the author from holding onto those close to him and sends people away.

The divide of Io: Io was a mythological Greek Priestess who was turned into a small cow in order to escape the advances of Zeus. An obvious parallel for the attraction to women and their attempts to escape the authors advances.

Stopping only to smile and murder Jesus: Jesus of course represents to very “best” of humankind. The author takes great delight in smiling as he murders this idealised vision of man as he knows he will never measure up and as such takes pleasure in striking him down, therefore completing his failure.

This is of course all total bullshit and the line of poetry I spouted was made up on the spot with absolutely no thought or effort put into it. But no matter what you write where poetry is concerned, you can bluff it off as meaning something deep and meaningful. It requires no effort, no thought and usually makes no sense. Most poems don’t even rhyme for fucks sake! If you can’t even be bothered to make the last word of each line rhyme, then you really don’t deserve to have your poem read.

Thinking on it, I’m struggling to think of a poem that I’ve actually managed to finish reading online. With no editorial control, every Beatnik wannabe who ever sat trough Dead Poets Society has been allowed to ramble on, spewing out their verbal diarrhoea like it was a gift from the Gods.

Though you may be thinking; “Who the hell is this guy to judge someone else’s work?” Well I’m the fucking guy who puts thought and effort into his work. You must be the other guy….

I’m not saying anything I’ve written is any good, but I actually take the time to properly polish a well crafted joke or humorous situation. But it pisses me off that equal time and space is then given to “Cat Hipsworth” and his musings on whether his mother ever really loved oatmeal?

Poets remind me of the worst type of women. The stuck up, good looking type. Yeah, she may be racing towards 30 and has yet to meet a man that comes up to her bitchingly high standards, but she’s “special” and deserves to be treated differently to other, common people. So as the poet deserves to be treated differently to other writers. Yeah their stuff is badly written and makes no sense, but they’re poets!! They don’t operate by the same rules as the common writer. Not for them plot, structure and character development. No sir. Just take a bucket full of feelings thrown against a wall of empathy.

Whatever sticks goes in.

I’m not saying that there isn’t a place for hack poetry. There is. It’s called “Dear Diary”.

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