The short bio I submitted with some works to Cascadia's Lit. Mag:
Walker Jones is a recovering alcoholic narcoleptic addict who enjoyed his past times and appreciates the future's present. Tensed as an object oph repositioning, sentenced to structure, his occasional sin—tactical manipulation—is hopefully reconciled by your indulgences. He lives on Capitol Hill with records and no player.
Another note, this from last month:
Listening to the sound of falling rain,
I wonder what it means to be insane.
Insanity is to do the same thing
And expect a difference resulting,
But each new day the sun rise brings me hope
That my life too could see a rise in slope.
What I ask is: why does this hope for change
Plot me out of accepted sane range?
Must I drudge constant on this plane, flat line,
And to insane domains my hope resign?
To what point does my life line continue?
Does this plane of existence have value?
The spacing of my poems is logical, but borders the fine line between method and madness. However, in these two poems I crossed that Rubicon line into madness. I attribute it to sleep deprivation and over-specification of overly broad themes; i.e. to say I tried to incorporate and interrelate too much too logically, leading to illogicality. I don't see myself completeing them, but I thought I'd share them anyways.
The first, habibti, I wrote nearly two years ago, the night after I wrote my first four poems (eyes, shut your mouth and open your lips, what, and orange, chronologically respective). I had an outline of a dozen or more combinations of the same words forming different sentences all playing to the same ideas (some of them were included in shut your mouth), and this was my attempt at overtly texto-graphically combining them. It's unreadable without my outline as a map, and I still can't make all of it out.
The second, conscience con science (how romantic), I penned about a month ago, as a reaction to my discovery in biology that science is fundamentally founded on nihilism, the current inequality gap (among other problems) widened by corporate greed, and my romantic feeling that our problems could be overcome just by a collective conscience.
Without further ado, I give you my logical descents into madness:
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After sitting through educational videos which at least had comical backdrops and scene transitions, I could not focus on reading the "Hazard Communication" (?) packet nor discerning the truth-/false-hood of the statements in the back of said packet. I succumbed to distraction and haiku:
Sitting pretty close
By way of New York she is
A sniffling mutt
Aponte of interest
We're both new here, here
Fred Meyer, Kirkland
We filled cars and drove our homes
To make our new ones
For allergy meds
Safeway generic brand and
Nettles are helpful
One hour's sleep, you there and
You might consider
As this, not the book
True and false review
Is truly false if I'd viewed
Truths falsely and blanked
I can't remember
What I was was I saying
I can't remember
Some rise as night falls
While the rest rest they while night
Falling at sun rise
Time never passes
It goes nowhere to the same
Place in present time