Wednesday, October 15, 2014

My Funny Frankentine


byFreya90 deviantArt




My Funny Frankentine
 'my funny Frankentine,
freaked cozmic Frankentine...you make me scream 
with my heart...'


It's time again

to go back, run back
into the burning barn
that burns forever
where the horse is dead meat
to fly in a panicking run
though there's nothing to save

to start in the empty night
at the trip-beat thump
from the telltale grave
shovel up the remains
stare at the gone skull face
and kiss it, again and again

to lay on the slab
counting the stitches
cigarette-burn itches
while the mad doctor laughs
and lies you're alive.


~October 2014


posted for    real toads

Challenge: Out of Standard
Isadore Gruye (The Nice Cage) evokes one of my favorite films, Shaun of the Dead, and asks us to imagine ourselves in a bunker during the zombie apocalypse--this is my picture of someone who might be in that bunker, or maybe, outside trying to get in...

Optional Musical Accompaniment









Image via facebook, copyright Freyja90 on deviantArt
No copyright infringement intended--will remove on request.





18 comments:

  1. Love it from the forever burning barn to the lying about being alive. Nice work. Also, the word "panicking" after the dead horse made me think of "packing," glue factories and stuff, which added an additional creep factor. Kudos!

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  2. This is fantastic!

    "...lying about being alive" I feel that way some days.

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  3. I am really rather out of spooky things--have never seen any zombie movie, not even Shaun--I tend to be very sensitive even to depictions of funny scary things, which has really limited my watching of movies. So, Frankentine may be well known but to me it is quite new-and I was surprised to see Bjork. (Can't listen, at office.) But the poem is both fun and scary and catchy and clever-- my favorite part has to do with the telltale grave which brings up the telltale heart but so many things --tales from the crypt--and just the fact that the grave too may be lying. But on the more serious side, there is an element in the human consciousness that forever tries to relive crisis or loss and to make it come out right this time--and to me the poem, for all its jokiness, speaks to that--how we relive the past trying to doctor it--Thanks. k. (I ended up linking mine as it seemed apropos and I am rather taken up this week so don't know if I can get to something else, though I'd like to go in a more specific zombie direction, for all my ignorance.) k.

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    1. Frankentine is my made-up word for this character, k. I don't think I've stolen it from anyone--it was, as usual, something I woke up with after a dream. ;_) I liked yours very much, and I think it had quite a feel of this time of year, when the veil is said to be thin between the world of the living and the dead. Thanks for reading in the hectic NYC craziness. (And, yes--not Bjork's usual thing here.)

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    2. Oh great word! It seemed pretty fresh and great to me_ very funny -- Mary Shelley would be proud!

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  4. counting the stitches
    cigarette-burn itches
    while the mad doctor laughs... I like that and your title is great

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  5. heh, not sure the mood intended in this one hedge...its got a little dark humor to it...the kinda, its time to go back, opening...and that last stanza as well...i wonder how many would fit that lie...though they are no where near the dear doctors table....

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  6. "Your face is laughable....unphotographable...." Gee I love those old standards. I've got a cd with Dinah Shore singing this, somewhere in my collection.

    Of course, you've gotten right into the spirit of Halloween--and this challenge--by coming up to the lab, to see what's on the slab, in true Hedgewitchian style! My favorite line was the itches.

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  7. That was cool. Poor, misunderstood Frankenstein monster. You have given him a well-deserved bit of sympathy.

    http://poetryofthenetherworld.blogspot.com/2014/10/octpowrimo-2014-day-16.html

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  8. "Frankentine" for this reader is nightmare's brimming shot of turpentine, the drink we cannot toss but must in the infernal logic of the dream, trapped inside that burning barn astride the horse we couldn't save. The classical world had a euphemism for the dread dead world of the nightmare -- Pluto, "riches." Yeah, but. Trespass into the otherworld at your mortal peril, as we know frantically trying to claw our way up and out of a nightmare. Creative riches, for sure -- depictions of hell are quantums and dimensions greater than those of heaven -- but maybe it's because the infernal metronome keeps us better on task. Dante's damned were doomed to repeat their sins forever, and the nightmare chatters with the repetition compulsion of one who keeps digging up the skull of the beloved. It's there because a deep part of us can't or won't let go, the way an alkie never quite loses his or her immortal thirst. How did zombies take over the imagination? They seemed more like bit players in the promenade of Universal Studios monsters, the tribe of revenants rather than the individual ghoul, our dreadful chorus ... Maybe online life imparts the buzz of their dread hive. And the question always, are we in or out? To which do we belong? For me it seems the zombie zoot fits when we refuse to wake up. Sinatra would be grinding in his grave to hear this, perhaps, though I suspect he would give up all the gold in the counting-houses of Pluto for another dance with Ava. A hoot, Hedge, if it wasn't so infernally earnest.

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    1. Agree about the demonic metronome(perfect description for that hellbeat) but also think we create more viscerally out of hell than heaven because, as I've said before, we know so much more about it. I mean, you know where you are with a demon. This was one of those dreams that was full of anger--where you wake up with an adrenaline high wanting to smash something, then you slump into that zombie-ized state--like, 'whatever, I'll never be alive again so what does it matter?" But it does, so I suppose we are not completely children of the grave yet. I thought your own take for this prompt built a real answer to the zombie fascination--I think part of it also, is the fascination of the immature with the gross--I mean, rotting walking dead bodies that eat brains are nothing if not a gross-out, as opposed to ethereal haunts, smoky ectoplasm or sinister, elegant vampires, the fears of a more gracious age. Even Frankentine is a reanimated corpse--the defiance of the gods' will, as it were, in the blindness of science, victim of the arrogance, and the coldness and lack of compassion(disowned by the man who makes him in repulsion and horror) that is destroying the world that sustains us. And yes, I think the plugged-in device-dominated, online aspect of all relationships with anything--over cerebral, but also, over emotional and completely self-focused, is the zombie buzz to end all buzzing. Thanks, as always for the conversation, B. and for bearing with me over the vagaries of the wordpress/blogger conflict. (I'm sorry that the comment that ended up surviving was less expansive than the original, but do-overs sap originality.)

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  9. Love in the time of zombie! I like to believe that even in a Dystopian landscape, the yearning for love, meaning and restoration will still be evident (though perhaps not to the extent of kissing corpses).

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  10. Loved that you dreamed this one ~ oh! the stuff of our dreams ...

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  11. what an amazing write! I loved it...especially the last words!

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  12. my final read before sleep. maybe those demons will bypass. who am i kidding, their talons are deep as teeth ~

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  13. Dark, chilly, spooky, just the way I like it!

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  14. Yet another Hedgey piece that I want to crawl into and live, apocalypse and all. The burning barn, the dead meat horse, the cigarette burn itches. Your words are lovingly stark. I bow and say viva la....also sorry for the late reading!

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'Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance' ~Carl Sandburg