Monday, November 26, 2007

Poet's Korner

Today, The Korner is honored to present Chris Peebles' inaugural foray into the controversial field of visual poetry. His piece, entitled "Submerged," reflects Peebles' knack for stepping right up to the edge of conventionality and diving headlong into the unknown abyss. Behold:

Kommentary Korner

As usual, I’m baffled by this wacky country we call the U.S.A. The other day, an afternoon of tenpin bowling sounded delightful so I hopped in my car and drove to a nearby bowling alley. As I entered the establishment, I was hit by a most sudden and disturbing revelation. Although never having stepped foot in that ramshackle bowl-porium before, I felt as though I’d been there many times. I’ve been in dozens, perhaps hundreds, of bowling alleys in my life, and I realized on that fateful day that they are all identical. The Bowl-shevik Revolution Lanes and Lounge, as it was called, was merely a clone of every other bowling joint I’ve visited in my life. All bowling alleys in America share identical sensory stimuli, particularly to the eyes and nose. They look as though they haven’t been redecorated since about 1966. They all have the smell of cigarette smoke and stale Miller Genuine Draft imbedded into the walls. They all possess a stratified layer of unidentified grime on every surface. These common characteristics of American bowling alleys have led me to a conclusion with unsettling political implications. I have a theory that, sometime in the 1960s, the Johnson administration declared a moratorium on the construction of new bowling alleys as well as the maintenance of pre-existing alleys. This explains the outdated and dilapidated conditions we are forced to bowl in today. Mysteriously, however, any records of President Johnson’s bowling alley nonproliferation executive orders have been erased. The truth has been concealed from the American public, for whatever reason, leaving us to bowl in tacky squalor. But, in spite of all this, I am optimistic that the future is bright for disgruntled, unsatisfied bowlers like myself. One day, a person will be able to freely hurl a 6 to 15 pound sphere along a greased wooden lane at a formation of neatly arranged blunt, ironically-named pins in a clean, sanitary, freshly scented environment decorated in a tasteful, contemporary fashion. Whoever is preventing bowling alleys from entering the 21st century can’t hideout for long. Soon, the cries for new and improved bowling alleys will be too loud for the architects of this oppressive conspiracy to ignore. --Peter Doe

Sunday, November 25, 2007

Poet's Korner

Good tidings to all! The Kreationists are back after a short and turkey-addled respite. This week brings you, the devoted web-drone, a substantial helping of poetry for your mind, body, and soul. Her name is Hattie Weyland, and boy can she string those words together! A younger but nevertheless crucial member of the Korner, Weyland's latest lament details her various struggles with that most deceptively simple of mathematical devices -- the Venn Diagram. Of her poem, Weyland comments that the seemingly innocuous diagram represents a larger struggle against "that which is of The Man, and which fancies our suppression." It has been noted that Weyland's interesting linguistic style is in reaction to her current high school environs. So, it is with great pleasure that I present Hattie Weyland's debut publication, in all its bloggy goodness!

Venn Diagram Vendetta

Oh, how I loathe thee-
thou awful globe-ed purpose.
Your scope leaves no sway,
for me to convey
just all I might mean-
through my sadly scribbled scrawl.
To seek my vengeance
par my pensions,
would be my delusion,
my dream, my desire.
With savvy handys and a clear head,
I'd abort all until all could be dead.
Then in classes comparatively,
we'd be without procedure.
For to round things out,
I'd have made it my bout
to rid the world of the two-circled evil.

original illustration by Arnold Haiken

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Video Korner

Greetings comrades, this week brings with it a very exciting post. After much deliberation, the innovative and controversial video artist Percy Stankowski has agreed to lend his talent to the Korner kause. Stankowski's installations are abrasive, unnerving events that treat the viewer with all the kindness of a 13th-century Mongolian conqueror. Of his latest piece, entitled "ThLstDnce", Stankowski states that the imagery portends the ultimate end of our "obsessive, disgusting, and dangerous cha-cha with the moving image and its correlation to our capitalist system. Which side breaks first is up to us." That's a mouthful, Stankowski, but we hear you loud and clear.

Thursday, November 15, 2007

I'm Lucky to be Alive

My car is shorter
than I am and
more blue as well.

It navigates the
serpentine roads
hugging the Rocky
mountains or something.

I crashed my car
into a river the
other day. It was
cold like a corpse in a freezer.

-Chrs. Pbls.

Kommentary Korner

There are a lot of things I don't understand about America. For example, why do we as a society revere cowboys so much? What is so appealing about these rugged cattle-rustlers of yore? I'll tell you what's so appealing: nothing! Cowboys were ill-mannered, carousing ruffians. Their meals consisted entirely of undercooked red meat and potatoes, which were washed down with whiskey. Warm whiskey. Once adequately intoxicated by their rotgut spirits and sub-standard dietary choices, these unruly yahoos would proceed to engage in unsavory acts with women of ill repute. On top of all that, cowboys rarely bathed. The life of a cowboy on the frontier can be best described as a constant torrent of vile-smelling drunken revelry. The cowboy's animal-like demeanor can be further seen in his most uncivilized mode of conflict resolution. Rather than fixing conflicts like any self-respecting human would, the cowboy unhesitantly resorted to six-shooters. How, by any measure, can we look at these barbarians as heroes? We should deride them as a blemish on our proud history as Americans, not present them as role models to our children. Something is seriously wrong with our nation. We purport to accept values of hard work, temperance and self-restraint yet we idolize and devote entire cinematic genres to rowdy, immoral degenerates. We shouldn't look at the John Waynes and the Clint Eastwoods as great actors; we should look at them as great frauds. Frauds who only prolong America's perversely misguided interpretations of historical fact. --Peter Doe

original art by Joe Mama

Monday, November 5, 2007

Poet's Korner

This week's featured artist is a beat poet by the name of Charlie Weigman. Weigman's confrontational pieces are more often than not performed impromptu on the street and at fever pitch. We managed to catch up with him and record this poem at the local Ford-Mercury-Buick dealership.

That Audi has Mercedes stylings
These Ritz taste like Triscuits
This Coca-Cola drinks like a Pepsi
These Nikes look like those Adidas
Those Levis fit like these Wranglers

A brand-name boy just don’t know what to do.

Charlie Weigman, we salute you!