deepundergroundpoetry.com
Campus, at Night
It is after midnight, the day’s machine cools down.
No one is around on this forsaken winter night.
Security swept by recently.
They won’t be by these parts for a while...
And a shivery figure materialises out of the shadows...
The Night Student embarks upon his campus...
Watching his breath on the benches,
Catching glimpses of future happenings...
Beholding the Infinite in the space beyond the stars...
Beholding the Eternal in his inability to be anywhere else...
Beholding Destiny from his memory...
There were good times in the sunshine,
When the ground was warm and the trees were full,
When the clouds were pillows and the skies a truest blue...
Then were the days to read outside,
And tell the time by the passing pupils between their classes...
All those passing pupils, who had no choice to keep going,
Who had some reason, or fear from inside,
To escape from Death and Pain by walking,
Walking from building to building to building...
And learning, learning, learning...
Learning what? What, for themselves?
What, for themselves, and not for Everyone?
And then was that time after the great rushing,
When only a few would trickle past,
And for a brief moment, no one, when he would Exist,
In the middle of fury, the noise of day.
Now it is silent and here he Exists again.
Only differently, there is no one passing.
And only prayer can be made to make visible change.
He need not look up, but he does, he always knows,
There is a broken moon in the broken branches...
He sees imaginary lines, motions and arrows...
The forces and mechanics, there are forces in the air...
Billions of times old from billions of distances away...
Wavelengths and particles are passing through his head,
And not stopping, never stopping anywhere.
There are too many formulas out there...
“I shall not be destined by the forces!”
He hollers in a triumphant scene filmed inside his mind,
“Shall we flee our organs differently tonight?!
If only we'd be a little better in our ways,
Maybe it wouldn't hurt as bad next time!”
Not likely, and he lowers his head to the snow,
Only to be reminded by the sparkles of the stars above:
What is the use of this architecture and landscaping?
To what great wisdom do these windy paths lead?
What secrets of the universe could be concealed
In the cupboards of these buildings?
What knowledge is in all those books asleep on the shelves?
What is in them, that is not already in him?
Why would we even choose to let certain words be read
In a linear way to give an invisible power to the mind
To change our bodies against the original rules?
The written rules are wrong to a child without words...
Science and religion are inventions...
God is more than what is just right or wrong...
But he loses the point, closes the trance in his palm.
Tells security now shaking flashlights in his eyes
That he’s taking a quick smoke break from his term paper
Due tomorrow.
No one is around on this forsaken winter night.
Security swept by recently.
They won’t be by these parts for a while...
And a shivery figure materialises out of the shadows...
The Night Student embarks upon his campus...
Watching his breath on the benches,
Catching glimpses of future happenings...
Beholding the Infinite in the space beyond the stars...
Beholding the Eternal in his inability to be anywhere else...
Beholding Destiny from his memory...
There were good times in the sunshine,
When the ground was warm and the trees were full,
When the clouds were pillows and the skies a truest blue...
Then were the days to read outside,
And tell the time by the passing pupils between their classes...
All those passing pupils, who had no choice to keep going,
Who had some reason, or fear from inside,
To escape from Death and Pain by walking,
Walking from building to building to building...
And learning, learning, learning...
Learning what? What, for themselves?
What, for themselves, and not for Everyone?
And then was that time after the great rushing,
When only a few would trickle past,
And for a brief moment, no one, when he would Exist,
In the middle of fury, the noise of day.
Now it is silent and here he Exists again.
Only differently, there is no one passing.
And only prayer can be made to make visible change.
He need not look up, but he does, he always knows,
There is a broken moon in the broken branches...
He sees imaginary lines, motions and arrows...
The forces and mechanics, there are forces in the air...
Billions of times old from billions of distances away...
Wavelengths and particles are passing through his head,
And not stopping, never stopping anywhere.
There are too many formulas out there...
“I shall not be destined by the forces!”
He hollers in a triumphant scene filmed inside his mind,
“Shall we flee our organs differently tonight?!
If only we'd be a little better in our ways,
Maybe it wouldn't hurt as bad next time!”
Not likely, and he lowers his head to the snow,
Only to be reminded by the sparkles of the stars above:
What is the use of this architecture and landscaping?
To what great wisdom do these windy paths lead?
What secrets of the universe could be concealed
In the cupboards of these buildings?
What knowledge is in all those books asleep on the shelves?
What is in them, that is not already in him?
Why would we even choose to let certain words be read
In a linear way to give an invisible power to the mind
To change our bodies against the original rules?
The written rules are wrong to a child without words...
Science and religion are inventions...
God is more than what is just right or wrong...
But he loses the point, closes the trance in his palm.
Tells security now shaking flashlights in his eyes
That he’s taking a quick smoke break from his term paper
Due tomorrow.
Published 26th Oct 2014
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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Ahoy my faithful followers and any stray strangers! This posting marks the beginning of the next phase of my works, outlining my horrendously ineffectual wanderings among the academic aisles. I previously donned the title "The University Years", but that's pretty lame. It really is more accurately the "Birth of Jim Nut Roarin". The period roughly occurs from the fall of 1998 to the fall of 2003, beginning at the 2nd year of my post-secondary studies. The 1st year of schooling will be a part of the next phase greatly entitled "The Black Book Period". But I actually plan on posting a few pieces from that time in this phase, because I just don't have to follow my own rules here!
Anyway, what had happened was that after a 2 1/2 gram mushroom trip, coinciding with the time of reading Jack Kerouac's "On the Road", I was prompted by the psychic heavens to purchase a vehicle and go on a road trip across the vast lands, I went up to the Far North and camped out a bit, and certainly drank some interesting stream water up there, and when I came back, well, the people who knew me then, they knew I was a bit of a basket case already, but when I returned from that trip, I was quite a bit extra further gone over the edge of things.
Thus the character and ubiquitous campus persona of Jim Nut Roarin was put into the twirling flesh and dark pupil. If only I had access to the internet back then, when this site here supposedly originated, oh boy the things I would be saying and posting then... You people are so lucky that you're reading these poems and comments posted by the person I am now, now that I'm mediocre and subdued and able enough to put in a 5 day work of week!
Anyway, this phase won't necessarily describe the Jim Nut Roarin vision and ideal, it'll just be chronicling the various works over the 5 year period, among the three university campuses that were terrorized by my presence during such. And I'll be throwing in a few side stories along the way in the comments, that's for sure. I have narrowed it down to about 120 works, and hopefully out of that I can fix up 20 or 30 really relevant and hard hitting pieces for you guys.
This particular piece was from the third of such academic environs I was propelled toward. I definitely spent a lot of time awake at night, and wandering around at day too, many who I met would tell me that out of all the school, they saw me the most, anywhere, everywhere.
But I should clarify, that back then I was a floozie dumbass, I really was only a part-time student, and only in fluff-head liberal arts pursuits, without any aim of finalized career. Just there for something or other. Exploration of the Universe, Unravelling of the Mind, stuff like that, doodily doo...
Nowadays, I likely possess more of the temperament and ideals to drop everything and go into business, or physics or engineering - but I'm way too stodgy and senile to get anything done on time anymore, so it looks like I shall be stuck to my current doom of low-risk low-investment low-paying brute labour positions, until every tendon and ligament of my limbs are snapped in two.
I mean, people fall out of school or post secondary pursuits for many reasons. Some reasons are outside circumstances, poverty, family troubles, etc. But lot of it is also due to the after hour lives that must be lived during it all, the drinking bouts and the drug experimentations, the dating and the sex and all the relationship ordeals, and so on. Certainly those were among the elements of my plight too. But it was my writing that did me in. It gets me every time. Because it IS entirely true that the more you read, the better (and more) you write. In school I would read more books, and I would end up writing and writing and writing (which is good for that sake), but not for the sake of getting good marks. I'd be writing my own things and not the term papers, and during the exams, a simple paragraph answer would turn into 20 pages of scrawlings on God, Eternity and LSD use, with me leaving the exam room with my booklet in hand chuckling madly with invisible glee (though I did hand in a few of these pieces...).
People tell me the solution to all my problems is to just go take English or Creative Writing or Journalism or Technical Writing - well, maybe they're right, maybe I will one day. But I know I can't write to a deadline, and I have that horrible hunch that if I wrote all day, every day for a profession, I know I wouldn't want to write my own stuff after work! It'd just be complacent after-super evenings of Netflix and Girlfriends then!
Anyway, what had happened was that after a 2 1/2 gram mushroom trip, coinciding with the time of reading Jack Kerouac's "On the Road", I was prompted by the psychic heavens to purchase a vehicle and go on a road trip across the vast lands, I went up to the Far North and camped out a bit, and certainly drank some interesting stream water up there, and when I came back, well, the people who knew me then, they knew I was a bit of a basket case already, but when I returned from that trip, I was quite a bit extra further gone over the edge of things.
Thus the character and ubiquitous campus persona of Jim Nut Roarin was put into the twirling flesh and dark pupil. If only I had access to the internet back then, when this site here supposedly originated, oh boy the things I would be saying and posting then... You people are so lucky that you're reading these poems and comments posted by the person I am now, now that I'm mediocre and subdued and able enough to put in a 5 day work of week!
Anyway, this phase won't necessarily describe the Jim Nut Roarin vision and ideal, it'll just be chronicling the various works over the 5 year period, among the three university campuses that were terrorized by my presence during such. And I'll be throwing in a few side stories along the way in the comments, that's for sure. I have narrowed it down to about 120 works, and hopefully out of that I can fix up 20 or 30 really relevant and hard hitting pieces for you guys.
This particular piece was from the third of such academic environs I was propelled toward. I definitely spent a lot of time awake at night, and wandering around at day too, many who I met would tell me that out of all the school, they saw me the most, anywhere, everywhere.
But I should clarify, that back then I was a floozie dumbass, I really was only a part-time student, and only in fluff-head liberal arts pursuits, without any aim of finalized career. Just there for something or other. Exploration of the Universe, Unravelling of the Mind, stuff like that, doodily doo...
Nowadays, I likely possess more of the temperament and ideals to drop everything and go into business, or physics or engineering - but I'm way too stodgy and senile to get anything done on time anymore, so it looks like I shall be stuck to my current doom of low-risk low-investment low-paying brute labour positions, until every tendon and ligament of my limbs are snapped in two.
I mean, people fall out of school or post secondary pursuits for many reasons. Some reasons are outside circumstances, poverty, family troubles, etc. But lot of it is also due to the after hour lives that must be lived during it all, the drinking bouts and the drug experimentations, the dating and the sex and all the relationship ordeals, and so on. Certainly those were among the elements of my plight too. But it was my writing that did me in. It gets me every time. Because it IS entirely true that the more you read, the better (and more) you write. In school I would read more books, and I would end up writing and writing and writing (which is good for that sake), but not for the sake of getting good marks. I'd be writing my own things and not the term papers, and during the exams, a simple paragraph answer would turn into 20 pages of scrawlings on God, Eternity and LSD use, with me leaving the exam room with my booklet in hand chuckling madly with invisible glee (though I did hand in a few of these pieces...).
People tell me the solution to all my problems is to just go take English or Creative Writing or Journalism or Technical Writing - well, maybe they're right, maybe I will one day. But I know I can't write to a deadline, and I have that horrible hunch that if I wrote all day, every day for a profession, I know I wouldn't want to write my own stuff after work! It'd just be complacent after-super evenings of Netflix and Girlfriends then!
