Beast Mode > Carpenters
below deck/ parade of zeroes that tangle/ my libido like intestines/
one year over warranty /// o my
unhitlered lifetime/ yes pestilence, a painting/ quoth the R Naught/ softcore prosthetic in/ vowel-sprained
i closed my pleasure centers/ for remodeling/// grownup tons in/ dangnabbit stance/ pasteurized yawns/
kerplunk as a bruise/ i am a receipt for/ the avalanche of previously valid/ tongues that never turned ballerina///
fellow liars,/ i greet friends with sweat/
/the glamor-damp, thigh part of ideology
/intellectual property i collide with to launder/ my thoughts below usefulness
/crashing the bewares/exhausted or/
libations to/ plausible craters/// the blown out kelp of me/ fastening bacterial grief/ to the permanent
/ end of the moon.///
remaining loyal artery departments,/ let’s kill it immortal
/ like/ triangles statue/
themselves grown holier/ by the minute / as the surrounding body ghetto /turns sour///
dawn, bright pubescent menace
/ plug my windows with scolded light
/ i’ll give it a second chance///
Ten Questions with James Schiller
1. What’s the meaning of this?
It’s hard to say. In almost every instance of my writing the “meaning” gestates during the actual process of making – birth without conception – so meaning can be discovered and discarded all the time. The phrase “Beast Mode > Carpenter” has something to do with the Milwaukee Brewers 2011 playoff series with the St. Louis Cardinals but then I wondered if Beast Mode was perhaps greater than all carpenters and not just one. When I added the “s” to “Carpenter” lots of things suggested explosions and I took them up on their offer.
2. Who do you think you are?
James Schiller. Nobody.
3. On whose authority?
Obviously my own. Who else?
4. What were you thinking?
Sometimes you write a line or a word and you know immediately it needs to be thrown out and allowed to displace some occupier of territory already called for. If I make something that works I want it to contribute to the world’s sum errors in a greater way than simply smushing other thoughts inside my face, which is a quiet, private place. The initial lines of this poem were those kinds of lines.
5. Where would you get an idea like that?
Where all ideas originate – somewhere besides me that I steal from.
6. Why on earth?
Because I can. Want.
7. Since when?
To me everyday is a new when, so there is very little “when” besides now to think about. I just bumped something, now I’m unbumped. That happened. Now what. Even though it’s exhausting, sometimes I prefer a lack of geneaology or other life-narrative animating my intentions. This is purely because I despise loyalty.
8. You and whose army?
No joke I often think of my writing as an army. Poems are typically tanks.
9. Did it ever occur to you?
Absolutely. And then I got fed up or fascinated with elsewhere and it mutated into trash. More things than I care to admit stop because my attention seizes up and quits into self-doubt. It’s a helpful tool when you don’t want to feel embarrassed but lately I’ve realized that the only life interesting enough to live is driven by embarrassment. See just there how that happened?
10. How do you sleep at night?
Mostly without trouble. I don’t know how that is considering what a fucked up act sleeping is – turning off and then letting other operable parts of you spin around and clang on their own for hours just having faith that you’ll come back.
James Schiller is the editor of SWINE magazine. His poetry has been published in elimae, LEVELER, Knock Magazine, and others. He blogs at www.oldtestamentdeaththreats.com.