| |
|
 |
|
Shangri-La
|
|
Shangri-La
Last night in the bathroom I found Shangri-La
No glory arrives without pain:
(the guttural rumblings of fire and acid
dead in the earth like old kings, my honour
and nights spent alone, all sleepless and dry—)
It rattles, it rattles my brain.
It’s fervently, famously sure of its goal—
to enter my skull
and pull out my soul .
(through my nostrils, of course)
To this, not even my cunning homage to
the Porcelain Lords stood the test.
Heart racing and grimly aware
Wretchedly yours,
I found Shangri-La
and the moment I did, I went blind.
|
|
Description
Read the poem, then this-- I don't want to give it away~
Okay, so, having finished this poem, you may be thinking "By Jove, what is the matter with Nanook? This poem is odd and does not rhyme." Well, it may not rhyme, but I assure you that the oddness is justified. Let me paint a picture for you...
Last Thursday, May 14th. I eat some pot noodles at about eight in the evening. I can't finish them, which is odd, but I think, "Eh, what the fuck, this only cost me like 60p anyway." So, I bin them, do some work, and pop off to bed at about half past ten. Sleep for a few hours, cut to three A.M. I'm feeling slightly like I'm about to die, and so I go to the toilet-- a wise decision. No need to go into the details, but.
Wash up. Go back to bed. Wake up again, and run for the toilet. Throw up once, twice, then three times, cough, throw up again, and then I WENT BLIND. I couldn't see anything. Smacked into a wall, hit the ground, sat there for a minute until my sight returned. Then, it occurred to me-- throwing up is horrible, but you feel muuuuuuuuch better afterwards. Decided to call this sensation "Shangri-La" because I'm a big ol' fairy poet.
Woke up at six on Friday, cleaned up and wrote an AP exam. Then I wrote this poem in my notebook (next to a picture of cherub's head superimposed on to an octopus.) Then I forgot about it. Then I wrote it here.
In conclusion, my life is the most interesting thing ever and anyone who disagrees is clearly not in touch with reality. The end.
tl;dr-- The poem is about throwing your fucking guts up.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Comments
WildBlueSun Says:
THAT INTERESTS ME.
You're right, of course. The last time I threw up was in the Opera House, when I went there on a backstage tour with my parents while incredibly hungover. (Yeah, I know.) Vomit made my hangover magically disappear, and I henceforth decamped to Wagamama's. The bit in the first verse in the brackets is especially awesome. ^^
The message?
Pot Noodles are the devil's brew.
AtroxChobatsu Says:
Agreed, though I've never gone blind, vomiting is a bizarre mix of pain and relief.
Like at first it's a horrible discomfort as your stomach turns itself out, but relief as the bad stuff gets out. When you have to repeat the process it's a mix of "I don't wanna.... but I gotta."
Did you ever find out what caused the blindness?