Teenage Literary Desecration…

boschgarden.jpg 

 

****WARNING****WARNING****WARNING****

(The following excerpt from my adolescent writing is a tad bit grim and descriptive…if you do not like macabre descriptions of morbidity, please discontinue reading).

***

My little trip down literary memory-lane wouldn’t be complete without revisiting that dark period of teenage angst that so many youth find themselves trapped in at some point.  I wouldn’t think twice about placing this type of disclaimer above my “macabre years” now, but back then, this type of literary spatter dotted the pages of my high-school journal and dripped from my pen like lifeblood.  This was what I wrote and this was how I felt.

People that met me on the street would have never have thought me capable of such dark thoughts as a teenager.  This prim and proper girl that wore her hair short and attended church every Sunday never let on that she had demons lurking in her mind.  Strangers passing on the street couldn’t see the serpents reflected in my retinas.  Those who knew me back then, knew of my somewhat sordid history, but my cool exterior never let on that this was a problem.  I guess things never really change.

A recent comment from OB reminded me that my childhood literary fluff had evolved into a demonic serpentine lair when I hit my mid-teens.  Angst?  Frustration?  Confusion?  Therapeutic?  Probably all of these.  I had my reasons for spouting these topically nasty poems.  My lust for science, reasoning and logic gave my poetry a rather surgical and apathetic air.  My artistic side revelled in awe at the Gothic aspects of Dante, Bosch…Yet, I would recoil in horror at the thought of theses images when they hit the paper.  It seemed as though my pen was some form of toxic channeling agent.

These darker periods of my life seem to be the exact mirror and opposite of my state of mind now.  And, although I am prone to the occasional bout of “the funks” (another, kinder term for depression), I can certainly find myself searching for the light and rehabilitating my soul a little quicker these days.  Thank goodness.

So without further adieu…

Introducing teenage angst in …

***

Desecration

“Today I heard the blood streaming in my ears,

and I felt the upsetting curves of my large intestine;

each fold so neatly trimmed with bacteria.

My optic nerve sent me desolute images,

and my cataracts blinded me from reality.

My spine split horizontally because of pressure,

and stress fractured my collar bone into six pieces.

The hearing I had gratitude for, diminished

when my ear drum broke, causing blackened

pain to writhe through my aching body.

You gave me this torture.

You gave me this pain.

My vocal chords were torn from screaming

in agony while you laughed my name.

Through all this pain I think of you,

and the sharpest bone in my body,

so I could grasp it

and throw it out to you in vain.”

***

Desecration.  Darkness.  Despair.  The three D’s of my teenage angst period.  Ugh.  Thank goodness for adulthood.

-PM

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3 responses to “Teenage Literary Desecration…

  1. Now THAT’S what I’m talking about! Oh, life, you spit on me, drank my blood, drained my soul and left me a hollow gourd. Yes, yes yes! Teenage angst at its best is as dark and horrible as it is overreaching and affected! I loved the way you used the anatomical and biology terms – a little Madame Curie, no?

    Oh OB! Lol! I think I wrote this when I was 15 or 16 or so. The angst is so palpable, yes? I used to fight with my mum horribly at times…perhaps this was one of my “after-fight” poems (I can’t be too sure). I have some other work too – even my “erotic” writing at this time is grim and macabre (probably influenced by the post-punk and Industrial music that I used to listen to). Oh yes…PM listened to that sort of heavy stuff (she still does from time to time with Machines of Loving Grace “Concentration” as my inspiration…youch!).

    I was a science whiz in school and had other nerdy, “alternative” friends…bookworms that used to act like badasses and skip school to write poetry and discuss Nietzsche and other controversial authors, while downing cup after cup of second rate coffee in a favourite down-town bar/club. If we weren’t cavorting in this club, we were out “terrorizing” the neighbourhoods in Gothic clothing, using our appearances and ideas/ideoms for extra shock value. Thinking back on this time, I must say that it was probably my most rebellious and formative years as an intellectual. I met alot of “older” people that influenced me and my friends in ways that expanded our minds (without drugs!). “So what” that I had to finish my 11th grade of school in summer school…it was a choice I would make again if given the chance…

    Ah, sweet memories.

    Thanks OB!

  2. Hi PM,
    I don’t think I ever got over ‘dark thoughts’, even in adulthood. But with writing, they are all released in my characters, leaving a calm, optimistic soul – I hope.
    Writing is therapy as well as a drug. You should see my horror stories …

    Anthony! I would love to read your horror stories. Perhaps you can give us a treat/glimpse around All Hallow’s Eve…You know, even now I am quite capable of creating some very dark images myself. These images are probably more intense because of the psychological and mental elements that I can impart to them (like you said…the way that you release these thoughts into your characters). I guess, the major difference now (like you) is that I am much more stable in terms of my social and psychological development…and a calm and positive soul really does underlie this writing…And, I agree with you fully – writing is as much of a drug as it is a therapy. Writing allows us to explore the darker sides of ourselves that we would never contemplate experiencing or exploring otherwise…

    This has been a very interesting topic of discussion…Thanks for your comments!

  3. the warning was on its place but it was nice to read

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