AUTODIDACT – A.G. Diedericks

Yes

I’m uneducated

punktuated by subversion

My verses run grades in reverse

I see only art in my continuum

I am averse to your curriculum

There’s no path for me in math

No rhythm in my algorithm

No symmetry in my poetry

I bastardize

established linguistics

I do it

Just to smite the elitist erudite

My philosophy is detached from your morphology

My beleaguered elocution

poisons Ivy league institutions

I am an alumnus

from the college of sacrilege

This is the narrative of a native

in class with the iconoclasts

We block the conjecture

I put a sock in the lecturer; Leave ’em annoyed

As i rock to the literature of pink floyd

I’m tryin’ to hold this mic, but my fingers keep slippin’

like Sigmund Freud


 

A.G. Diedericks: “write what you know” are the four most soporific
words I’ve ever heard. I am a divergent writer who couldn’t give 2
fucks about striving to be the best. To write only what you know, is
to play it safe. Art is imaginative rebellion. I am engaged with the
versatile risk takers, the ones who are not afraid to take their shoes
off & get dirty. I write & curate atMorality Park,”]

 

BRIMFUL OF GRIM 2 – Collaboration – A.G. Diedericks & Kindra M. Austin

He is the rain on a cold grey day—

the arthritis that ravages my bones

and when he breathes, it’s a Nor’easter wind—

I’m blown apart; shattered;

scattered; kicked about like autumn leaves,

dead

 

Unwritten letters from our post-mortem breathe life into her apparition

Like the weather; she returns to season fresh wounds

Blood pressure tantamount to a volcanic mountain; she hikes my temperature

 

Fuego, fuego! I give him fever; raze his green earth

while he does freeze mine

I exhale phantoms in billowing bursts

and weep for the fugitive memories

 

Her frosted ribcage collides with the arson in my heart; two souls, cremated

We paint every town red;

Ours is a match that burns all bridges

We’re on a road to revive the great depression

 

Ghouls are we without restitution—

to Hell with intuition

Gods warring are we without resolution—

fuck the institution

 

I suck on his brimstone,

a brimful of grim, and he grins with Cheshire teeth

tucked tightly in his head

 

With us there’s no cease fire; no coalition

Be it life or death, our ashes will always blow in the same direction


 

[ This piece is the conclusion to Brimful of Grim, Part 1. ]

 


 

A.G. Diedericks is the groundskeeper of Morality Park, where he lures in lost souls. ]

Kindra M. Austin is an author (information on her book can be found here), artist, and a Sagittarius Valkyrie from the state of Michigan—Go Detroit Red Wings! She likes her drinks corpse stiff, music loud as fuck, and classic big block muscle cars. You can find her filing through the souls of the slain at poems and paragraphs.]

 

Morality Park – A.G. Diedericks

Welcome to Morality Park
where sleeping dogs bark
and never lie
Where the fire in our hearts combust the torch of Lady Liberty
With flames that will enlighten
your misconceptions
We are the Arsonists
and tonight,
We will conflagrate the patriarchy!

Do not think us unkind
If you tell us
It’s just inside our mind
We’ll write you
a benevolent epitaph
whilst an empath
runs you a crimson bath

Mad Men tried to contain
the mosaic fragments of our delirium
inside prosaic bottles of lithium;
bereft of clarity
and dressed in normality

Restless sanity
Uncaged anxiety
with legislative amnesty
to fluctuate, and Soar
High, on top of the See-saw

In Morality Park;
There are no grey areas!
Yes, I’m talking to you rapists
You, who said you misread her signals
We’ll hang you by the wrong head
and blame it on a typo
from the judge’s sentence

We, the hypochondriacs
of your fake news
Are your greatest misdiagnosis
Sorry Ramones,
But we’ll no longer be sedated
We are the minority
that will parallel park
on your authority
If you get in our space
We’ll be the “What The FUCK?!”
That will remain on your face


 

A.G. Diedericks is the groundskeeper of Morality Park, where he lures in lost souls. ]

Anachronistic Rant – A.G. Diedericks

History void of sapience

I am the spectre

of regurgitated fallacy

I carve the crevice

in impregnable absolutes

the blood-splatter in the crevasse

of your ice sculpture

where i birth postmodernism

and cut off the crimson springs

of solipsism

 

Children raised by the idiot box

extinction of libraries

words replaced by letters

A climate change

bonfire of trees

A nation impeached

acclimation to a blue bird’s speech

 

Hubris draped in white cloth

 the sloth that doth not protest

Suffragettes suffocating

for egalitarianism

 

Robots dictate pedestrians

look to your alt-left

look to your alt-right

I know where I left my keys

can you help me find

my fucking mind?


 

A.G. Diedericks is a cinephile in the midst of being gentrified into a bibliophile… colonized by mediocrity. He moonlights as a clandestine writer. You’ll find him in a dark alley over at the cuckoo’s nest, where he often lays to rest in Cape Town, SA. ]

Nom De Guerre – Collaboration of A. G. Diedericks & Aurora Phoenix

 

in art
I come alive
when I put my pen down
it’s all uncharted territory
obfuscated scriptures
obstruct my script
with indecisions
and honed inhibitions
I vomit
unintelligible words
ineligible to decipher
paraplegic
cryptic
paralysis in my analysis
a jargon
too far gone
from consciousness
I thrive
in poetic nooks
inhaling the sustenance
of literary lore
I shrivel
when my fingers
relinquish their perch
click-clack pecking the keys
I lose my footing
skid and wander
meandering Neanderthal
grunting monosyllabic
monotonous monotone
bungled from gnarled
arthritic fingertips
aching hips
collide coccyx
cogitating
insensate sensibilities
incongruous
in a house of congress
homo sapiens
barred from sapience
I am a refugee
seeking refuge
in the allure
of a nom de guerre


 

A.G. Diedericks is a cinephile in the midst of being gentrified into a bibliophile.. Colonized by mediocrity; He moonlights as a clandestine writer. You’ll find him in a dark alley over at the cuckoo’s nest; where he often lays to rest in Cape Town, SA. ]

&&&

[Aurora Phoenix: I spent over 2 decades as a clinical psychologist, prior to the decimation of my world when I was suddenly incarcerated 2 and a half years ago. My writing was born in that caged existence – not a choice but a soul-saving necessity.  I write as Aurora Phoenix at Insights from “Inside”]

‘A BRIMFUL OF GRIM’ – Collaborative – A.G. Diedericks & Kindra M. Austin

I walk the streets, brimful of grim

a former empath, deformed

with a Stephen Hawking-sized

black hole in my chest

 

At night I chisel the cemetery of us

blurred visions leave my veins with an incision

I siphon the blood back into our old skeletons

reprieve my solitude

 

The moon is a phantasm—

a projection of you

Your cold white face casts shadows

of me against these cobblestone streets

and up the sides of Tudor buildings—

I am a colossus,

brimful of grim   

 

In an L.A. riot, I lie quiet

under a monochrome sun,

and listen to the unison of us—the way we were, uncanny

The earth vibrates underneath me; defibrillator, ascertain my heartbeat

 

Ever since you left, every woman I meet plays her part in a ménage

á trois with your mirage

Cosplay lovers;

I think you would love the homage

 

The sun’s beams envelope me,

a yellow shroud melting

Saturate my winter soul—

memories of you coagulate

in my arteries, thick cholesterol

You are my heart disease

I crave the taste   

 

Insatiable, the revenant of you

I climb into your climate

A masochist, unable to resist—tie me up, let me hang,

suspended in the mist of you


 

A.G. Diedericks is a cinephile in the midst of being gentrified into a bibliophile.. Colonized by mediocrity; He moonlights as a clandestine writer. You’ll find him in a dark alley over at the cuckoo’s nest; where he often lays to rest in Cape Town, SA. ]

&&&

Kindra M. Austin is an author (information on her book can be found here), artist, and a Sagittarius Valkyrie from the state of Michigan—Go Detroit Red Wings! She likes her drinks corpse stiff, music loud as fuck, and classic big block muscle cars. You can find her filing through the souls of the slain at poems and paragraphs.]

‘Recombinant Selves’ – A Collaborative of 11 writers

We inherit

The wordless cry

Of all our former

Selves (CER)

 

They layer themselves

upon us

ragged cloaks

of the homeless

dragging

at our heels (AP)

 

Dusk takes one last breath

Swallowing golden specks of us

Scattered among the detritus

No light reflects

From such depths

We are the chosen (1W-W)

 

We stumble against starless darkness

searching for one truth (KMA)

 

Layer by layer, I am revealed.

The reflection looking back at me

isn’t one I recognize.

Will there be anything

worth remembering,

when I’m gone? (SD)

 

Fragmented remnants

permeate our evolution

ill-fated to dissonance

a dichotomy of our

recombinant selves (AGD)

 

Searching for a candle in the abyss,

A hope to hold onto,

To chalk sweaty palms

Gripping a frayed rope.

tearing tender flesh,

Climbing toward salvation (JWL)

 

But the stars have fallen, smashed diamonds

of our shattered images, and the lost cry

who am I? In tune with our hearts.(A)

 

Through telescopes

we focus on a point

All else is irrelevant

From the bottom of a well

our vision is limited

All else is a mystery (WC)

 

The mysterious property

of my ancestors

the progeny of dusk

I am prodigy or effigy

What I ought to be

or another misstep in

my fragile history (OP)

 

Our former

Selves

Cry:

Look

Their

inheritance! (SFF)


 

Writers:

1Wise-Woman

A.G. Diedericks

Allie

Kindra M. Austin

Ward Clever

Sarah Doughty

Stephen F. Fuller

John W. Leys

Aurora Phoenix

Olde Punk

Christine E. Ray